On the First Daughter of Ben Jonson. Here lies to each her parents ruth, Mary, the daughter of their youth: Yet, all heav'ns gifts, being heav'ns due, At six months end, she parted hence With safety of her innocence; Whose soul heav'ns Queen (whose name she bears) In comfort of her mother's tears, Hath plac'd among her virgin train: On the First Son of Ben Jonson, Farewel, thou child of my right hand, and joy; O, could I lose all father, now. For why Will man lament the state he should envie Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say here doth lie For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such, ON S. P. A Child of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel. Weep with me all you that read And know, for whom a tear you shed, "Twas a child that so did thrive As Heaven and Nature seem'd to strive Which own'd the creature. Years he number'd scarce thirteen When Fates turn'd cruel, Yet three fill'd Zodiacks had he been And did act (what now we moan) As, sooth, the Parce thought him one, So, by error to his fate They all consented; But viewing him since (alas, too late) And have sought (to give new birth) But, being so much too good for earth, Brighwell, Oxon. ON STEPHEN RUMBOLD. Born Feb. 1582, He liv'd one hundred and five, An hundred to five, You live not so long. Dy'd March 4, 1687. Clerkenwell Church-yard. ON MR. HARRIS, 1774. Here rests the man who living dar'd be brave, And spurn'd the follies of each vicious slave; Who dar'd to think, to act by virtue's laws; And strove to conquer in religion's cause; He strove-not merely by the turns of art, But steady practice, with sincerest heart; A practice founded on fair reason's rules, Unknown to wayward, unrepenting fools; Such that he was, and how he dar'd excel, In future let Acarian Shepherds tell : His boast, sweet liberty! for when she's gone, Then vice and virtue interweave as one. O guard thy Britons, Heaven to latest hour, O guard thy Britons from despotic power! On Fop, a Dog belonging to Lady Throckmorton. Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name, And though no hound, a martyr to the chace! He died worn out with vain pursuit of you. "Yes!" The indignant shade of Fop replies, "And worn with vain pursuit, Man also dies.” ON ROBERT COXE, Town-Crier of Northampton, 1773. Here, silenc'd now by voice of death, One rests, who ne'er knew loss of breath; But, when alive, would loudly give it * Rabbits, turkeys, geese, fresh salmon and cod, and live lobsters and oysters are advertised for sale by the town-criers. The losses which misfortunes send; - And who's of goods by fraud bereft.- At the Village of Mousehole, Cornwall. ON OLD DOLLY PENTREATH. One of the last persons known to speak the Cornish language; she was buried in Paul's Church Yard, near Mousehole, and lived to the great age of 102. Her Epitaph is both in Cornish and English. Old Dol Pentreath, one hundred age and two |