Here lyes, by name, the world’s mother, By nature, my aunt, sister to my mother; My grandmother, mother to my mother; My great grandmother, mother to my grandmother; My grandfather’s daughter and his mother; All which may rightly be, Without the breach of consanguinity.
Here lies _Robin_, but not _Robin Hood_; Here lies _Robin_ that never did good; Here lies _Robin_ by heaven forsak’n; Here lies _Robin_—the devil may tak’n.
Alive, unnumber’d stays he made, (He work’d industrious night and day;) E’en dead he still pursues his trade, For here _his bones will make a stay_.
Man’s life’s a vapour, And full of woes; He cuts a caper, And down he goes.
Here lies my wife, and Heaven knows, Not less for mine, than her repose!
Here lies poor Thomas, and his Wife, Who led a pretty jarring life; But all is ended—do you see? He holds his tongue, and so does she.
If drugs and physic could but save Us mortals from the dreary grave, ’Tis known that I took full enough Of the apothecaries’ stuff To have prolonged life’s busy feast To a full century at least; But spite of all the doctors’ skill, Of daily draught and nightly pill, Reader, as sure as you’re alive, I was sent here at twenty-five.
Here lies poor Jerry, Who always seem’d merry, But happiness needed. He tried all he could To be something good, But never succeeded. He married two wives: The first good, but somewhat quaint; The second very good—like a saint. In peace may they rest. And when they come to heaven, May they all be forgiven For marrying such a pest.
If you’re disposed to weep for sinners dead, About these children trouble not your head, Reserve your grief for them of riper years, They as has never sinned can’t want no tears.
The draught is drunk, poor Tip is dead. He’s top’d his last and reeled to bed.
Rum and milk I had in store, Till my poor belly could hold no more: It caused me to be so fat, My death was owing unto that.
Once ruddy and plump, But now a pale lump, Beneath this safe hump, Lies honest Joe Crump, Who wish’d to his neighbours no evil, Who, tho’ 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.
Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in night, God said, “Let Newton be!” and all was light.