Page 74 - Graveyard

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

192. On a Fiddler named Stephen:—

Stephen and Time are now both even;
Stephen beat Time, but now Time’s beat Stephen.

193. From Shoreditch Churchyard:

We must all die, there is no doubt;
Your glass is running—mine is out.

194. From Whitby Churchyard:—

Sudden and unexpected was the end
Of our esteemed and beloved friend;
He gave to all his friends a sudden shock,
By one day falling into Sunderland Dock.

195. From St. Mary’s, Swansea. On a child 3 months old:—

Beneath this stone an infant lies,
To earth whose body’s lent,
Which shall more pure hereafter rise,
But not more innocent.
When the last dreadful trump shall blow,
And Souls to Bodies join,
Millions will wish their lives below
Had been as short as thine.
O Sexton, do not with thy Death-like spade,
Remove this earth where innocence is laid.

196. From the same place, On the wife of John Prosser:—

_____________Reader, pause,
And think what a wife should be, and she was that!!

(See Nos. 4 and 189.)