Page 25 - Graveyard

G r av e y ar d H u m o r | 23

18. From a Burial Ground in the Crimea:

Sacred to the memory of Frederick Spratt, private, Royal Marines, late
st
of Her Majesty’s Ship Bellerophon, who departed this life on the 21
April, 1855, at the age of 36 years:—

Here lies an old soldier, whom all must applaud:
He fought many battles both at home and abroad;
But the fiercest engagement he ever was in,
Was the battle of self in the conquest of sin.

19. By George Joblin, Shoemaker, of Wallsend, intended for his
own tombstone:—

My cutting-boards to pieces split,
My size-stick measures no more feet,
My lasts are broke all into holes,
My blunted knife cuts no more holes,
My fuddling caps to thrums are wore,
My apron is to tie my store,
My welt ties out, my awls are broken,
And merry glees are all forgotten.
No more I’ll use black ball or rozin,
My copperas and my shop-tub’s frozen.
No more I’ll have occasion for course of work,
Nor count dead horse, or kick the kirk.
My pinchers are with age grown smooth,
And bones grow little worth;
My lapstone’s broke, my colour’s done,
My gum-glass’s broke, my paste is run,
My hammer-head’s broke off the shaft;
No more Saint-Monday with the craft.
My nippers, tack, strap, and rag,
And all my kit has got the bag;
My ends are sewn, my pegs are driven,
And now I’m on the tramp to heaven.