ST. PETER, LEEDS, YORKSHIRE.
Thomas Crabtree Ob. 1680, Æt. 19.

Short was my stay in this vain world,
All but a seeming laughter;
Therefore mark well thy words and ways,
For thou com'st posting after.

From a Village in Suffolk.

Life is only a pal below

When Christ appears, then-up we go.

On Master Newberry.

Henceforth be ev'ry tender tear supprest,

Or let us weep for joy that he is blest;
From grief to bliss, from earth to heav'n remov'd,
His mem'ry honour'd, as is life belov'd.

That heart, o'er which no evil e'er had pow'r !

That disposition, sickness could not sour!

That sense, so oft to riper years deny'd!

That patience, heroes might have own'd with pride!

His painful race undauntedly he ran,

And on th' eleyenth winter ay'd a man.

On a Huntsman.

Here lies John Mills, who over hills
Pursu'd the hounds with hollow;

The leap though high, from earth to sky,
The huntsman we must follow.

CAMBERWELL CHURCH YARD.

In memory of Miss Mary Pelo, who died July 12, 1763, aged ten years.

Come, silly mortal, take your stand,
Here view the world unknown,
Nor would you wish me in your hand,

Or in my God's alone.

My innocence to rest is gone,

In preference to you ;

Remember, tho' my work is done,

That yours is yet to do.

Then dry your tears, your duty know,
Rejoice that this is true:

To her you certainly may go,

Who cannot come to you.

On a Coller.

Death at a Cobler's door oft' made a stand,

And always found him on the mending hand;
At last came death, and in foul weather,
Ript the sole from off the upper leather:

Death by a trick of art, then laid him fast,

His awl he called for, but death brought his last;

On Robert Huntingdon, of Stanton Harcourt, Esq; and Robert, his son.

This peaceful tomb doth now contain
Father and son together laid;.

Whose living virtues shall remain

When they, and this are quite decay'd.

What man could be to ripeness grown,
And finish'd worth could do, or shun,,
At full was in the father shown,

What youth could promise in the son.
But death obdurate both destroy'd,.
The perfect fruit and op'ning bud;
First seiz'd those sweets we had enjoy'd,
Then robb'd us of the coming good.

IN MEMORY OF

WILLIAM COWPER, Esa.
Born in Herefordshire 1731.

Buried in St. Edmund's Chapel, in the Church of
East Dereham, 1800.

by Kazy

Ye, who with warmth the public triumph feel.
Of talents, dignified by sacred zeal,

Here, to devotion's bard devoutly just,

Pay your

fond tribute due to CowPER's dust..

England, exulting in his spotless fame,

Ranks with her dearest sons his fav'rite name:
Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise,
So clear a title to affection's praise;
His highest honours to the heart belong;
His virtues form'd the magic of his song,

On a beautiful Child..

Beneath this rugged monument
There sleep the sweetest innocent;
That e'er with tender passions warm'd
A parent's heart, or smiling charm'd :
Her wit mature, her rosy cheeks,

As the op'ning blossoms gay,

Or the star, when morning breaks,.

Heav'n saw; and snatch'd her soul away,

Amidst its cherub forms to shine,
Who was like them so lovely and divine.
Bring flow rs, ye virgins! strew her grave,
Then say, "These sweets let sweetness have.”

On a Friend, by R. Burns.

An honest man here lies at rest,
As e'er God with his image blest,

The friend of man, the friend of truth;
The friend of age the guide of youth:
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd ̧.
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd :
If there's another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.

On a beautiful Maid.

Here she lies, now cold as ice,
Once fair as Eve in Paradise;

For her beauty it was such
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins come, and in a ring
Her supremest requiem sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly o'er the dead.