A tailor by profession, And in the practice, a plain and honest man. He was a useful member of society; For, though he picked holes in no man’s coat, He was ever ready to repair The mischief that others did. And whatever _breaches_ broke out in _families_, He was the man to mend _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.
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?
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.
Hurra! my brave Boys, let’s rejoice at his fall, For if he had lived he had Buried us all.
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.
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.
Reader, take notice, That on ye 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.
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.