Gleanings in Graveyards Part 24

Oxfords.h.i.+re.

WOLVERCOT.

Fair Rosomond's Tomb.

Rosomond was buried at G.o.dstow, a small island formed by the divided stream of the Isis, in the parish of Wolvercot, near Oxford. The following quaint epitaph was inscribed upon her tomb:-

"Hic jacet in Thumba, Rosa Mundi, non Rosamunda, Non redolet sed olet, quae redolere solet."

Imitated in English.

"Here lies not Rose the chaste, but Rose the Fair, Her scents no more perfume, but taint the air."

Another translation.

"The Rose of the World, a sad minx, Lies here;-let's hope she repented: She doesn't smell well now, but stinks,- She always _used_ to be scented."

Another.

Here doth Fayre Rosamund like any peasant lie: She once was fragrant, but now smells unpleasantly.

On Meredith-an Organist.

Here lies one blown out of breath, Who lived a merry life, and died a Merideth.

On a Letter Founder.

Under this stone lies honest SYL, Who dy'd-though sore against his will; Yet in his fame, he shall survive,- Learning shall keep his name alive; For he the parent was of letters, And _founded_, to _confound_ his betters; Though what those letters should contain, Did never once concern his brain, Since, therefore, Reader, he is gone, Pray let him not be trod upon.

Old Vicar Sutor lieth here, Who had a Mouth from ear to ear, Reader tread lightly on the sod, For if he gapes, your' gone by G--.

Here lieth the body of Ann Sellars, buried by this stone, Who dyed on January 15th day, 1731.

Likewise here lies dear Isaac Sellars, my Husband and my Right, Who was buried on that same day come seven years, 1738.

In seven years time there comes a change! observe, and here you'll see On that same day come seven years, my husband's laid by me.

E. G. Hanc.o.c.k, died August 3, 1666.

John Hanc.o.c.k, Sen. ---- 4, ---- John Hanc.o.c.k, Jun. ---- 7, ---- Oner Hanc.o.c.k, ---- 7, ---- William Hanc.o.c.k, ---- 7, ---- Alice Hanc.o.c.k, ---- 9, ---- Ann Hanc.o.c.k, ---- 10, ----

What havoc Death made in one family, in the course of Seven days.

ENSHAM.

On John Green.

If true devotion or tryde honesty Could have for him got long lives liberty, Nere had he withered but still growne Green, Nor dyed but to ye Poor still helping been.

But he is tane from us yet this we comfort have, Heaven hath his Soule still (Green) though body is wasting Grave, In progeniem filii defunctam adjacentam.

My fruit first failed here we low ly, Live well then, fear not all must dy.

BANBURY.

Here do lye our dear boy, Whom G.o.d hath tain from me: And we do hope that us shall go to he, For he can never come back again to we.

NETTLEBED.

Both young and old that pa.s.seth by, Remember well that here lies I, Then think on Death, for soon too true, Alas twill be that here lies you.

A doctor of divinity, who lies in the neighbourhood of Oxford, has his complaint stated for him with unusual brevity, as well as his place of interment:-

"He died of a quinsy, And was buried at Binsey."

Rutlands.h.i.+re.

OAKHAM.

John Spong, Jobbing Carpenter.

Who many a st.u.r.dy oak had lain along, Fell'd by Death's surer hatchet, here lies SPONG, Posts oft he made, but ne'er a place could get, And liv'd by railing, though he was no wit: Old saws he had, although no antiquarian, And stiles corrected, yet was no grammarian.

Shrops.h.i.+re.