ON A BIRD.

Here lieth,

aged three months and four days,
the body of

Richard Acanthus,

a young person of unblemished character. He was taken, in his callow infancy, from the wing of a tender parent,

by the rough and pityless hand of a two-legged animal, without feathers.

Though born with the most aspiring disposition of unbounded love of freedom,

he was closely confined in a grated prison, and scarcely permitted to view those fields, to the possession of which he had an undoubted charter. Deeply sensible of the infringement of

his natural and unalienable rights,
he was often heard to petition for redress,
not with rude and violent clamour,

but in the most plaintive notes of harmonious sorrow.
At length, tired with fruitless efforts to escape,
his indignant soul

burst the prison which his body could not,
and left a lifeless heap of beauteous feathers.
Reader!

If suffering innocence can hope for retribution,
deny not to the gentle shade of this
unfortunate captive

the humble, though uncertain, hope of animating
some happier form,

or trying his new-fledged pinions

in some happy Elysium, beyond the reach of MAN, the tyrant of this lower world!

ON A LIBERTINE.

Here lies the vile dust of the sinfullest wretch

That ever the devil delay'd to fetch;

But the reader will grant it was needless he should,
When he saw him a-coming as fast as he could.

ACROSTIC EPITAPH.

AT STEPNEY.

I nclos'd lye hid as sacred remains

A s e'er was bound by th' King of Terror's chains.
Master and chaplain's place he well did bear!
E ach threat'ning wave, astonish'd with his pray'r,
Shrunk in his head when pious James was there.
Bayly, on board, the baffled tempest flew,
As swift as morning sun exhales the dew;
Y onder he comes, his joyful men would cry,
Lower your topsails, see the master's by,-
You'd think when he was there some angel nigh.
God gave him leave to breathe his last on shore,
And what was lent him by th' Almighty pow'r
He safely did convey by trusty friend,
Who strictly did perform the donor's end,
And spread the bounty of his liberal hand
Amongst his poor relations, which command

Bought the deceas'd sure title to the promis'd land.
Born in Landalph, in County of Cornwall.

IN RUDGWICK CHURCH-YARD.

Here lies the body of Cranley, Doctor Edward Haynes,
Who for to maintain his family spar'd not for pains;
To ride and to run, to give relief

To those that were in pain, in grief.

He, the 30th of April, enter'd Death's straight gate,

In the year of our Lord, one thousand and seven hundred

and eight.

He left behind him when he left this life

Two likely sons and a loving wife;

And, about 36 weeks after,

His wife and relict was brought to bed with a dafter;

Which three we desire may live,

Not to beg, but to give.

His eldest son Edward, about six years and ten months old,

His youngest son, John, three, both dapper and bold.

Like to most mortals, to his business he was a slave, Catch'd the small-pox and died, and lies here in his grave.

DISPOSABLE EPITAPH.

Here lies my dear wife, a sad slattern and shrew:
If I said I regretted her, I should lie too.

ON AN IDLER.

Here lies one, who was born and cried,
Told threescore years, and then he died:
His greatest actions that we find,

Were that he wash'd his hands and din'd.

ON HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, SON OF KING
JAMES I.

Reader, wonder think it none,
Though I speak, and am a stone.
Here is shrin'd celestial dust,

And I keep it but in trust.
Should I not my treasure tell,

Wonder then you might as well

How this stone could choose but break,
Having never learn'd to speak.
Hence amaz'd, and ask not me
Whose these sacred ashes be:
Purposely it is conceal'd;
For, if that should be reveal'd,
All that read would, by and by,
Melt themselves to tears, and die.
Within this marble casket lies
A matchless jewel of rich prize;
Which Nature, in the world's disdaine,
But show'd, and then put up againe.

ON THOMAS CHURCHYARD,

Laureate to Henry the Seventh and Eighth; buried at Saint Margaret's, Westminster.

Come, Alecto, and lend me thy torch,
To find a church-yard in a church-porch;
Povertie and poetrie this tomb doth enclose,
Therefore, gentlemen, be merry in prose.

ON SIR FRANCIS VERE.

By one of the Wits of his own Times.

Where Vere sought Death, arm'd with his sword and shield,
Death was afraid to meet him-in the field;
But, when his weapons he had laid aside,
Death, like a coward, strook him, and he died

ON MR. LANGFORD, AUCTIONEER.

So, so, Master Langford, the hammer of Death

Hath knock'd out your brains, and deprived you of breath; 'Tis but tit for tat,-he who puts up the town, By Devil or Death must at last be knock'd down.

ON MR. JOHN HIPPESLEY,

OF FACETIOUS MEMORY.

Buried at Clifton, in Gloucestershire.

When the stage heard that Death had struck her John,
Gay Comedy her sables first put on;

Laughter lamented that her fav'rite died,

And Mirth herself ('tis strange!) laid down and cried ;
Wit droop'd his head-e'en Humour seem'd to mourn,
And solemnly sat pensive o'er his urn.

ON LADY CECIL.

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

A Brooke by name, the Baron Cobham's childe,
A Newton was she by her mother's side;
Cecill her husbande this for her did builde,
To prove his love did after death abide,
Which tells unto the worldes that after come

The worlde's concepte whileste heare she held a roome.
How nature made her wise, and wel beseeminge,
Witt, and condition, silente, trew and chaste;

Her vertues rare wanne her much esteeminge;

In courte with soveraigne still with favoure grate, Earth coulde not yealde more pleasinge earthy blisse; Blest with two babes, the thirde brought her to this.

TINDAL'S CEMETERY, LONDON.

Vavasor Powell, a successful teacher of the past, a sincere witness of the present, and an useful example to the future age, lies here interred, who, in the defection of many, obtained mercy to the sound faithful; for which, being called to severe prisons, he was there tried, and would not accept deliverance, except a better resurrection. In hope of which he finished his life and testimony together, in the eleventh year of his imprisonment, and in the 53d year of his age. Octob. 27. An. 1671.

In vain oppressors do themselves perplex,

To find out arts how they the saints may vex.
Death spoils their plots, and sets th' oppressed free,
Thus Vavasor obtain'd true liberty.

Christ him releas'd, and now he's join'd among
The martyr'd souls, with whom he cries, How long?
Rev. vi. 10.
E. BAGSHAW.

This Powell was one of the most notorious republicans in the time of the Commonwealth. Bagshaw, who wrote the epitaph on Powell, was also a staunch republican; and, dying in December, 1671, had an epitaph of the same kind on his monument in the same church-yard, written by Dr. Owen.

EPITAPH.

In St. Peter's Chapel, Quarenden, Bucks, is a monument to Sir Anthony Lee (who died about the year 1550), with this inscription:

Anthony Lee, a knight of worthy name,
Sire to Sir Henry Lee, of noble fame,
Son to Sir Robert Lee, here buried lies,

Whereas his fame and memory never dies;

Greate is the fountain whence himself did roam,

But greater is the greatness of his sone;

His body here, his soul in heaven doth reste,

What scornde the earthe, cannot with earthe be prest.