102

pages

CURIOUS EPITAPHS.

of the Spectator honourable mention is made of John Parkes.

In the churchyard of Hanslope is buried Sandy M'Kay, the Scottish giant, who was killed in a prize fight with Simon Byrne. A headstone bears the following inscription:

Sacred to the memory of

ALEX. M'KAY,

(Late of Glasgow),

Who died 3rd June, 1834,
Aged 26 years.

Strong and athletic was my frame ;

Far from my native home I came,

And manly fought with Simon Byrne;

Alas! but lived not to return.

Reader, take warning of my fate,

Lest you should rue your case too late;

If you ever have fought before,

Determine now to fight no more.

We are informed that Byrne was killed shortly afterwards, whilst engaged in fighting.

From the prize-ring let us turn to the more satisfactory amusement of cricket. In Highgate Cemetery, Lillywhite, the celebrated cricketer, is buried, and over his remains is placed a monument with the significant emblem of a wicket being upset with a ball.

The following lines are said to be copied from a tombstone in a cemetery near Salisbury :

I bowl'd, I struck, I caught, I stopp'd,
Sure life's a game of cricket,

I blocked with care, with caution popp'd,
Yet Death has hit my wicket.

The tennis ball is introduced in an epitaph placed in St. Michael's Church, Coventry. It reads thus:

Here lyes the Body of Captain GERVASE SCROPE, of the Family of Scropes, of Bolton, in the County of York, who departed this life the 26th day of August, Anno Domini, 1705. AN EPITAPH WRITTEN BY HIMSELF IN THE AGONY AND DOLOROUS PAINES OF THE GOUT, AND DYED SOON

AFTER.

Here lies an Old Toss'd Tennis Ball,
Was Racketted from Spring to Fall
With so much heat, and so much hast,
Time's arm (for shame) grew tyr'd at last,
Four Kings in Camps he truly seru'd,
And from his Loyalty ne'r sweru'd.
Father ruin'd, the Son slighted,
And from the Crown ne'r requited,

Loss of Estate, Relations, Blood,

Was too well Known, but did no good,

With long Campaigns and paines of th' Govt,

He cou'd no longer hold it out:

Always a restless life he led,

Never at quiet till quite dead,

He marry'd in his latter dayes,

One who exceeds the com'on praise,

But wanting breath still to make Known

Her true Affection and his Own,

Death kindly came, all wants supply'd

By giuing Rest which life deny'd.

We conclude this class of epitaphs with a

couple of piscatorial examples.

the churchyard of Hythe :

The first is from

His net old fisher George long drew,
Shoals upon shoals he caught,
'Till Death came hauling for his due,

And made poor George his draught.
Death fishes on through various shapes,

In vain it is to fret ;

Nor fish nor fisherman escapes

Death's all-enclosing net.

In the churchyard of Great Yarmouth, under date of 1769, an epitaph runs thus :—

Here lies doomed,

In this vault so dark,

A soldier weaver, angler, and clerk ;

Death snatched him hence, and from him took

His gun, his shuttle, fish-rod, and hook,

He could not weave, nor fish, nor fight, so then
He left the world, and faintly cried Amen.

Bacchanalian Epitaphs.

OME singular epitaphs are to be found over

SOM

the remains of men who either manufactured, dispensed, or loved the social glass. In the churchyard of Newhaven, Sussex, the following may be seen on the grave of a brewer :

To the memory of

THOMAS TIPPER who

departed this life May the 14th

1785 Aged 54 Years.

READER, with kind regard this GRAVE survey
Nor heedless pass where TIPPER's ashes lay,
Honest he was, ingenuous, blunt, and kind;
And dared do, what few dare do, speak his mind,
PHILOSOPHY and HISTORY well he knew,
Was versed in PHYSICK and in Surgery too,
The best old STINGO he both brewed and sold,
Nor did one knavish act to get his Gold.
He played through Life a varied comic part,
And knew immortal HUDIBRAS by heart.
READER, in real truth, such was the Man,
Be better, wiser, laugh more if you can.

The next, on John Scott, a Liverpool brewer,

is rather rich in puns :—

Poor JOHN SCOTT lies buried here;

Although he was both hale and stout

Death stretched him on the bitter bier.

In another world he hops about.

On a butler in Ollerton churchyard is the following curious epitaph

Beneath the droppings of this spout,

Here lies the body once so stout,

Of FRANCIS THOMPSON.

A soul this carcase once possess'd,
Which of its virtues was caress'd,
By all who knew the owner best.
The Ruffords records can declare,
His action who, for seventy year,
Both drew and drank its potent beer;
Fame mentions not in all that time,
In this great Butler the least crime,

To stain his reputation.

To envy's self we now appeal,
If aught of fault she can reveal,

To make her declaration.

Here rest good shade, nor hell nor vermin fear,

Thy virtues guard thy soul, thy body good strong beer.
He died July 6th, 1739.

We will next give a few epitaphs on publicans. Our first is from Pannal churchyard; it is on Joseph Thackerey, who died on the 26th of November, 1791

In the year of our Lord 1740

I came to the Crown ;

In 1791 they laid me down.

The following is from the graveyard of Upton