all,
And make matters up again.
He lived and died respected.

Forty years’ service in Lord Penryhn’s family, induced Lady Penryhn to bestow this stone to his memory.

CHESTER.

On an Old Woman who sold Pots.

Beneath this stone lies Cath’rine Gray,
Changed to a lifeless lump of clay.
By earth and clay she got her pelf,
Yet now she’s turn’d to Earth herself.
Ye weeping friends, let me advise,
Abate your grief, and dry your eyes.
For what avails a flood of tears?
Who knows, but in a run of years,
In some tall pitcher or broad pan,
She in her shop may be again?

CHESTER.

Periwinks! Periwinkle! was ever her cry,
She laboured to live Poor and honest to die;
At the last day Again how her old Eyes will twinkle,
For no more will she cry, Periwinks! Periwinkle!
Ye Rich, to Virtue’s want rejoicing give,
Ye Poor, by her Example learn to live.

On a Sexton.

Hurra! my brave Boys, let’s rejoice at his fall,
For if he had lived he had Buried us all.

WESTON.

On a Parish Church.

There lies entomb’d within this vault so dark,
A Tailor, cloth draw’r, soldier, and a clerk.
Death snatch’d him hence, and also from him took
His needle, thimble, sword, and prayer book.
He could not work nor fight, what then?
He left the world, and faintly cry’d—Amen.

ST. JOHN’S CHURCH, CHESTER.

On a swift-footed Man.

Here lies the swift racer; so fam’d for his running,
In spite of his boasting, his swiftness and cunning,
In leaping o’er hedges, and skipping o’er fields,
Death soon overtook him, and tript up his heels.

GAWSWORTH.

         Reader, take notice,
   That on y^e 12 Feby 1760,
      Tho: Corbishley,
A brave veteran Dragoon
   Here went into his quarters.

But remember that when
   The trumpet calls
He’ll out and march again.

Cornwall.

TRURO.

A Dyer born, a dyer bred,
Lies numbered here among the dead;
Dyers, like mortals doomed to die,
Alike fit food for worms supply.
Josephus Dyer was his name,
By dyeing he acquired fame;
’Twas in his forty-second year,
His neighbours kind did him inter.
Josephus Dyer, his first son,
Doth also lie beneath this stone;
So likewise doth his second boy,
Who was his parents’ hope and joy.
His handiwork did all admire,
For never was a better dyer.
Both youths were in their fairest prime,
Ripe fruitage of a healthful clime;
But nought can check Death’s lawless aim,
Whosoever life he choose to claim;
It was God’s edict from the throne,
“My will upon earth shall be done.”
Then did the active mother’s skill
The vacancy with credit fill,
Till she grew old, and weak, and blind,
And this last wish dwelt on her mind—
That she, when dead, should buried be
With her loved spouse and family,
At last Death’s arm her strength defied;
Thus all the dyeing Dyers died.

“A prolonged medical statement of the disease of which the departed may chance to have died, is extremely popular.  At Acton, in Cornwall, there is this particular account of how one Mr. Morton came by his end:—

“Here lies entombed one Roger Morton,
Whose sudden death was early brought on;
Trying one day his corn to mow off,
The razor slipped and cut his toe off:
The toe, or rather what it grew to,
An inflammation quickly flew to;
The parts they took to mortifying,
And poor dear Roger took to dying.”

“Here is what a Cornish gentleman finds it in his heart to inscribe upon his dear departed:—

“My wife is dead, and here she lies,
No man laughs and no man cries,
Where she’s gone, or how she fares,
Nobody knows and nobody cares.”

PENRYN.

Here lies William Smith,
And what is somewhat rarish,
He was born, bred, and
Hanged in this parish.

CALSTOCK.

Susanna Jones,
1812.

All you that read those lines
Would stop awhile and think,
That I am in eternity,
And you are on the brink.

Mary Matthews,
1846.

This harmless dove, our tender love,
Flew from this world of vice,
To peace and rest, for ever blest,
With Christ in Paradise.

ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD, MOUSEHOLE.

On Dolly Pentreath.

Old Doll Pentreath, one hundred age and two,
Both born and in Paul parish buried too;
Not in the church ’mongst people great and high,
But in the church-yard doth old Dolly lie!

STRATTON.

Life’s like an Inn, think man this truth upon,
Some only breakfast and are quickly gone;
Others to dinner stay and are full fed,
The oldest man but sups and goes to bed.
Large is his score who tarries through the day,
Who goes the soonest has the least to pay.

SOUTH PETHERWIN.

Beneath this stone lies Humphrey and Joan,
Who together rest in peace,
     Living indeed,
     They disagreed,
But now all quarrels cease.

LANDULPH.

Here lyeth the body of Theodore Paleologus, of Pesaro, in Italye, descended from the imperyal line of the last

Christian Emperor of Greece, being the sonne of Camillo, the sonne of Prosper, the sonne of Theodore, the sonne of John, the sonne of Thomas, the second brother of Constantine Paleologus, that rayned in Constantinople until subdued by the Turks, who married with Mary, the daughter of William Ball, of Hadlye, in Suffolk, gent., and had issue five children, Theodore, John, Ferdinando, Maria, and Dorothy; and departed this life at Clyfton, the 21st of January, 1636.

On Sir Francis Vere.

When Vere sought death, arm’d with his sword and shield,
Death was afraid to meet him in the field;
But when his weapons he had laid aside,
Death, like a coward, struck him, and he died.

ST. AGNES.

Here lies the body of Joan Carthew,
Born at St. Columb, died at St. Cue,
Children she had five,
Three are dead, and two alive,
Those that are dead chusing rather
To die with their Mother, than live with their Father.

GUNWALLOE.

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