Page 118 - Graveyard

116 | Gr a v e y a r d H u m o r

She was not smart, she was not fair,
But hearts with grief for her are swellin’;
All empty stands her little chair:
She died of eatin’ water-melon.

354. From Berkeley Churchyard. On a fool:—

Here lies the Earl of Suffolk’s fool,
Men called him Dicky Pearce:
His folly served to make folks laugh,
When wit and mirth were scarce.
Poor Dick, alas! is dead and gone—
What signifies to cry!
Dickys enough are still behind,
To laugh at by-and-by.

355. From the same place:—

Here lyeth Thomas Peirce, whom no man taught,
Yet he in Iron, Brasse, and silver wrought;
He Jacks, and Clocks, and watches (with Art) made
And mended, too, when other worke did fade.
Of Berkeley five tymes Mayor this Artist was,
And yet this Mayor, this Artist, was but Grasse.
When his own Watch was Downe on the last Day,
He that made watches had not made a Key,
To wind it Vp, but Vselesse it must lie,
Until he Rise AGaine no more to die!
Deceased the 25th of February, 1665, Ætatis, 77.

356. On a Pig-butcher at Cheltenham:—

Here lies a true and honest man,
You scarce would find such a one in ten;
For killing pigs was his delight,
Which art he practised day and night.