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G r av e y ar d H u m o r | 33

Clos’d are those eyes, the harbinger of wit,
Which spake before the tongue what Shakespear writ:
Cold is that hand, which living was stretched forth,
At friendship’s call, to succour modest worth;
Here lies James Quin: deign, reader, to be taught,
Whate’er thy strength of body, force of thought,
In nature’s happiest mould however cast,
To this complexion thou must come at last.
—D. Garrick.

48. On John Collier, alias Tim Bobbin, the Lancashire Poet.

He was a native of Rochdale, and his tombstone bears the following
inscription:—

Here lies John, and likewise Mary,
Cheek by jowl and never weary;
No wonder they so well agree,
John wants no punch, nor Moll no tea.

49. On Margery Scott, in the Churchyard of Dalkeith, near
Edinburgh:—

Stop! Reader, stop! until my life you’ve read;
The living may gain knowledge from the dead.
Five times five years I lived a virgin’s life,
Ten times five years I was a virtuous wife,
Ten times five years I lived a widow chaste,
Now tired of this mortal life—I rest.
I from my cradle to my grave have seen
Eight mighty Kings of Scotland, and a Queen;
Four times five years the Commonwealth I saw,
Ten times the subjects rose against the Law.
Twice did I see the old Palaces pulled down,
And twice the cloak was humbled by the gown;
An end of Stewart’s vivid law—nay, more,
I saw my country sold for English ore.