ON JOE CRUMP.

Once ruddy and plump,
But now a pale lump,
Beneath this soft clump,
Lies honest Joe Crump,
Who wish'd to his neighbour no evil;
Although by Death's thump,
He's laid on his rump;

Yet up he shall jump,

When he hears the last trump,
And triumph o'er death and the devil.

ON WILLIAM ROBERTSON, D. D.

Within, the relics of a churchman lie,
The good man's friend, and no man's enemy;
Learn'd humble, pious, cheerful, mild; his breast
A mansion pure, by Charity possest.

To all benevolent, and less inclin'd

To serve himself, than benefit mankind :
To that he sacrific'd each worldly view,

For what his heart condemn'd he durst not do.
Though scant of wealth, rich in the truest sense,
Rich in a conscience void of all offence;

And to man's natural rights a friend sincere,
Or in a civil or religious sphere.

In him, as in a glass, the world might see
What teacher, husband, father, man, should be.
To truth a constant friend he liv'd and died;
Truth, in return, this epitaph supplied.

ON A COUNTRY INNKEEPER.

Here! hark ye! old friend! what wilt pass, then, without

Taking notice of honest plump Jack?

For see how 'tis with me, my light is burnt out,
And they've laid me here flat on my back.
That light in my nose, once so bright to behold,
That light is extinguish'd at last;

And I'm now put to bed, in the dark and the cold,
With wicker, and so forth, made fast.

But now wilt oblige me? Then call for a quart
Of the best, from the house o'er the way;
Drink a part on't thyself, on my grave pour a part,
And walk on.-Friend, I wish thee good day.

On MR. JOHN MOLE, who died at Worcester.

Beneath this cold stone lies a son of the Earth;
His story is short, though we date from his birth;
His mind was as gross as his body was big :
He drank like a fish, and he ate like a pig ;
No cares of religion, of wedlock, or state,

Did e'er, for a moment, encumber John's pate:
He sat, or he walk'd, but his walk was but creeping,
And he rose from his bed-when quite tir'd of sleep-
ing.

Without foe, without friend, unnotic'd he died;
Not a single soul laugh'd, not a single soul cried.
Like his four-footed namesake, he dearly lov'd earth,
So the sexton has cover'd his body with turf,

AT FARLAM, NEAR NAWORTH CASTLE.

John Bell broken bow

Ligs under this stean:
Four of mine een sons
Laid it on my weam,
I was a man of my meat,
Master of my wife ;

I lived on mine own land
Without mickle strife.

"

On W. ELDERTON, the red-nosed Ballad-maker.

He was originally an attorney in the sheriff's court of London, and afterwards (if we may believe Oldys) a comedian; was a facetious fuddling companion, whose tippling and rhymes rendered him famous among his contemporaries. He was author of many popular songs and ballads, and probably other pieces. He is believed to have fallen a victim to his bottle before the year 1592. His epitaph has been recorded by Camden, and is thus translated by Oldys.

Dead drunk, here Elderton doth lie;

Dead as he is, he still is dry:

So of him it may well be said,

Here he, but not his thirst, is laid.

See Stow's Lond. (Guildhall)-Biogr. Brit. (Drayton, by Oldys, Note B.) Ath. Ox-Camden's Remains The Exaale-lation of Ale, among Beaumont's Poems, 8vo. 1653.

ON FRANCIS CHARTERIS.

Here continueth to rot
The body of Francis Charteris ;
Who, with an inflexible constancy,
And inimitable uniformity of life,
Persisted,

In spite of age and infirmities,
In the practice of every human vice ;
Excepting prodigality and hypocrisy ;

His insatiable avarice exempted him from the first,
His matchless impudence from the second:
Nor was he more singular
In the undeviating depravity of his manners,
Than successful

In accumulating wealth;
For, without trade or profession,
Without trust of public money,
And without bribe-worthy service,
He acquired, or, more properly, created,
A ministerial estate.

He was the only person of his time
Who could cheat without the mask of honesty,
Retain his primæval meanness

When possessed of ten thousand a year;
And having deserved the gibbet for what he did,
Was at last condemned to it for what he could not do.

O indignant reader !

Think not his life useless to mankind!
Providence, at his execrable designs
To give to after ages

A conspicuous proof and example
Of how small estimation is exorbitant wealth,

In the sight of God,

By his bestowing it on the most unworthy

Of all mortals.

DR. ARBUTHNOT,

This man was infamous for all manner of vices. When he was an ensign in the army, he was drummed out of the regiment for a cheat; he was next banished to Brussels, and drummed out of Ghent, on the same account. After an hundred tricks at the gaming table, he took to lending of money at exorbitant interest and great premium; and accumulating premium, interest and capital into new capital, and seizing to a minute when the payments became due®; in a word, by a constant attendance on the wants, vices, and follies of mankind, he acquired an immense fortune. His house was the scene of every iniquity. He was twice condemned for rapes, and pardoned; but the last time not without imprisonment in Newgate, and large confiscations.

He died in 1731, aged 62. The populace at his funeral raised a great riot, almost tore the body out of the coffin, and cast dead dogs, &c. into the grave along with it.

He was said to have died worth seven thousand pounds a year, estates in land, and about one hundred thousand pounds in money.

1, Sir John Trollop,
Made these stones roll up;
When God shall take my soul up,
My body shall fill that hole up.