ON A STRAIGHT-FORWARD COUPLE.
Interr'd beneath this marble stone,
Lie saunt'ring Jack and idle Joan;
While rolling threescore years and one
Did round this globe their courses run.
If human things went ill or well,—
If changing empires rose or fell,
The morning past, the ev'ning came,
And found this couple still the same.
They walk'd and eat,-good folks! what then?
Why then they walk'd and eat again.
They soundly slept the night away,
They did just nothing all the day;
And, having bury'd children four,
Would not take pains to try for more.
Nor sister either had, nor brother,
They seem'd just tally'd for each other.
Their morals and economy
Most perfectly they made agree.
Each virtue kept its proper bound,
Nor trespass'd on the other's ground.
Nor fame, nor censure they regarded;
They neither punish'd nor rewarded.
He car'd not what the footman did;
Her maids she neither prais'd nor chid:
So, ev'ry servant took his course;
And, bad at first, they all grew worse.
Slothful disorder fill'd his stable,
And sluttish plenty deck'd her table.
Their beer was strong, their wine was port;
Their meal was large; their grace was short.
They gave the poor the remnant meat,
Just when it grew not fit to eat.
They paid the church and parish rate;
And took, but read not the receipt:
For which they claim'd their Sunday's due,
Of slumb'ring in an upper pew.
No man's defects sought they to know,
So never made themselves a foe.
No man's good deeds did they commend;
So never rais'd themselves a friend.
Nor cherish'd they relations poor,-
That might decrease their present store;
Nor barn nor house did they repair,-
That might oblige their future heir.
They neither added nor confounded-
They neither wanted nor abounded.
Each Christmas they, accounts did clear,
And wound their bottom round the year.
Nor tear nor smile did they employ
At news of public grief or joy.
When bells were rung and bonfires made,
If ask'd, they ne'er deny'd their aid;
Their jug was to the ringers carried,
Whoever either died or married.
Their billet at the fire was found,
Whoever was depos'd or crown'd.
Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise,—
They would not learn, nor could advise.
Without love, hatred, joy, or fear,
They led a kind of—as it were;
Nor wish'd, nor car'd, nor laugh'd, nor cried,
And so they liv'd, and so they died.
IN CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL.
To the Memory of Sir Thomas Thornhurst, Knight.
Stay, gentle reader, pass not slightly by;
This tomb is sacred to the memory
Of noble Thornhurst. What he was, and who,
There is not roome enough in me to show,
Nor his brave story out at length t' explain.
Both Germanies, the new-found world by Spain,
Ostend's long siege, and Newport's battle, tried
His worth; at length, warring with France, he died.
His blood seal'd the last conquest; for black Rhee
Gave him at once a death and victory.
His death as well as life victorious was:
Fearing lest Rhee (as might be brought to pass)
By others might be lost in time to come,
He took possession till the day of doome.
IN PRITTLEWELL CHURCH-YARD,
A man has two wives buried in one grave; and, after recording their several virtues, the epitaph has the following whimsical termination :
Were it in my choice that either of the twaine
Might be restor❜d to me, to enjoy again,
Which should I choose?-Well, since I know not whether, I'll mourn for the loss of both-but wish for neither.
MOLIERE'S EPITAPH.
Roscius hic situs est tristi Molierus in urna,
Cui genus humanum ludere, ludus erat.
Dum ludit mortem, Mors indignata jocantem
Corripit, et nimium fingere sæva negat.
Molière, on whom these lines were made, was taken ill while he was playing the part of a dead man on the stage, in one of his own comedies; was carried home, and died in a few hours. He was born, according to Bayle, about the year 1620. He went through his school learning under the Jesuits in Clermont College, and was designed for the bar; but, after he had made an end of his study of the civil law, he pitched upon the profession of a comedian, wherein he succeeded, and wrote several exquisite plays. He died on the 17th February, 1673. The inscription in English is thus :
Within this melancholy tomb confin'd,
Here lies the matchless ape of human kind;
Who, while he labour'd with ambitious strife
To mimic death as he had mimic'd life,
So well, or rather ill, perform'd his part,
That Death, delighted with his wondrous art,
Snatch'd up the сору, to the grief of France,
And made it an original at once.
ON SIR ISAAC NEWTON.-BY POPE.
Nature and Nature's laws, lay hid in night—
God said, "Let Newton be," and all was light!
AT ST. AUGUSTINE'S, PARIS.
Here lies the Reverend Father in Christ, Peter Quiqueran, Bishop of Senez, son of Antony Quiqueran, Knight, and Baron of Beaujeu, in Provence; who left behind him three books on the Praises of Provence, full of learning and knowledge. He died in the year 1550 (the 15th of the kalends of September), in the 24th year of his age.
Why was I snatch'd so soon, and why my date
Of life so short? Such are the laws of fate!
If to old age Heav'n had prolong'd my years,
A fruitful crop had bless'd my studious cares;
But, since the flow'r is cropt before its time,
The fruit's decay'd, and wither'd in its prime,
Let none lament with tears my death, or blame
My loss-I live in an immortal name.
This young bishop, by his book De Laudibus Provincia, seems to have employed himself in quite another thing than the government of his diocese. He did not study the diseases of the soul, and the method of curing them. His curiosity led him to inquire into the properties of plants, minerals, and animals. He fed a large number of beasts, was a great hunter, and extremely fond of cock-fighting.
IN TREGUIER CATHEDRAL.
Capacious soul, with learning fraught,
From stores of Greece and Latinum brought,
Persuasive from the preacher's chair,
Censor of heresy severe;
By whose examples taught, we see
What bishops were and ought to be:
Prelate with ev'ry virtue crown'd,
Still to the poor a patron found;
Adorn'd with Christian piety,
Guardian and friend of chastity.
Where'er thou goest, the lamb shall be
A guide, divine Amboise, to thee!
Adrian d'Amboise was the king's preacher and almoner, and great master of the college of Navarre, and afterwards made Bishop of Treguier. He died July 28, 1616. This prelate wrote a French tragedy called Holofernes, which was printed in 1580.
ON THE MONUMENT OF SIR P. HALKETT,
IN SCOTLAND.
To the immortal memory of
Sir Peter Halkett, Baronet, of Pitfirrane,
And Colonel of one of his Majesty's regiments of foot; Who was slain in that unfortunate conflict in America, In the year 1755.
Unfortunate, indeed, to England; and the more so, As, by this gallant commander's death, it tore from her One so capable of wiping off her disgrace.
Had he himself commanded in chief,
Thus, it is most likely, he would have fallen;
But then, we may well believe,
Unless from that one circumstance,
Britain would never have remembered the day with sorrow.
After repeated efforts to rally his men,
He received a shot from the enemy in his head
And a second pierced his heart;
That loyal and manly heart always ready to execute
The greatest action which the head could plan.
It was from a bed of sickness, against all the prayers
And intreaties of his friends, and family,
That he led his regiment to the field,
Where he now lies,
In the bed of honour.
This is erected by the R. H.
Lady Amelia Halkett,
Not as an addition to his glory,
(Vain were that thought!)
But as a testimony, small as it is,
Of the constant and unfeigned love
She bears to the memory
The best of husbands and of men.
A Baker, of the Name of DEATH, having lately died, a Wag offered the following as an appropriate Epitaph:
Here lies Death, who liv'd by Bread;
We all shall live, now Death is dead,
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