Page 89 - Graveyard

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240. By Ben Jonson, on Elizabeth L. H.:—

Would’st thou hear what man say
In a little? reader, stay:
Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die;
Which in life did harbour give
To more virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault,
Leave it buried in this vault.
One name was Elizabeth,
The other, let it sleep with death;
Fitter, where it died, to tell,
Than that it lived at all. Farewell.

241. On a Tailor’s Wife.

A tailor, whose Christian name was Abraham, met with the Earl of
Rochester, and desired him to write an epitaph for his wife, whose name
was Sarah. The Earl complied, and wrote one in his usual ludicrous style,
which ran as follows:—

From Abraham’s bosom full of lice,
To Abraham’s in Paradise,
Our sister Sarah took her flight,
And bid the lousy thief good-night.

The following is another epitaphian effusion of his:—

242. On King Charles:—

Here lies our mutton-eating King,
Whose word no man relies on;
He never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one.