We extract, from a collection of epitaphs, the following on a publican:--
A jolly landlord once was I, And kept the Old King's Head hard by, Sold mead and gin, cider and beer, And eke all other kinds of cheer, Till Death my license took away, And put me in this house of clay: A house at which you all must call, Sooner or later, great or small.
It is stated in Mr. J. Potter Briscoe's entertaining volume, "Nottinghamshire Facts and Fictions," that in the churchyard of Edwalton is a gravestone to the memory of Mrs. Freland, a considerable landowner, who died in 1741; but who, it would appear from the inscription, was a very free liver, for her memorial says:--
She drank good ale, strong punch and wine, And lived to the age of ninety-nine.
A gravestone in Darenth churchyard, near Dartford, bears the following epitaph:--
Oh, the liquor he did love, but never will no more For what he lov'd did turn his foe; For on the 28th of January 1741, that fatal day, The Debt he owed he then did pay.
At Chatham, on a drunkard, good advice is given:--
Weep not for him, the warmest tear that's shed Falls unavailing o'er the unconscious dead; Take the advice these friendly lines would give, Live not to drink, but only drink to live.
From Tonbridge churchyard we glean the following:--
Hail! This stone marks the spot Where a notorious sot Doth lie; Whether at rest or not It matters not To you or I.
Oft to the "Lion" he went to fill his horn, Now to the "Grave" he's gone to get it warm.
_Beered by public subscription by his hale and stout companions, who deeply lament his absence._
From St. Peter's Mancroft, Norwich, are the following lines on Sarah Byfield, who died in 1719, comparing life to a market:--
Death is a market where all must meet, It's found in every city, town, and street. If we our lives like merchandise could buy, The rich would ever live, the poor alone must die.
On a gravestone in the churchyard of Eton, placed to the memory of an innkeeper, it is stated:--
Life's an inn; my house will shew it: I thought so once, but now I know it. Man's life is but a winter's day; Some only breakfast and away; Others to dinner stop, and are full fed; The oldest man but sups and then to bed: Large is his debt who lingers out the day; He who goes soonest has the least to pay.