Part 5

The next epitaph was written by Swift on Dicky Pearce, who died 1728, aged 63 years. He was a famous fool, and his name carries us back to the time when kings and noblemen employed jesters for the delectation of themselves and their friends. It is from Beckley, and reads as follows:--

Here lies the Earl of Suffolk's Fool, Men call him DICKY PEARCE; His folly serv'd to make men laugh, When wit and mirth were scarce. Poor Dick, alas! is dead and gone, What signifies to cry? Dicky's enough are still behind To laugh at by and by.

In our "Historic Romance," published 1883, by Hamilton, Adams, and Co., London, will be found an account of "Fools and Jesters of the English Sovereigns," and we therein state that the last recorded instance of a fool being kept by an English family is that of John Hilton's fool, retained at Hilton Castle, Durham, who died in 1746.

The following epitaph is inscribed on a tombstone in the churchyard of St. Mary Friars, Shrewsbury, on Cadman, a famous "flyer" on the rope, immortalised by Hogarth, and who broke his neck descending from a steeple in Shrewsbury, in 1740.

Let this small monument record the name Of CADMAN, and to future times proclaim How, by an attempt to fly from this high spire, Across the _Sabrine_ stream, he did acquire His fatal end. 'Twas not for want of skill, Or courage to perform the task, he fell; No, no,--a faulty cord being drawn too tight Hurried his soul on high to take her flight, Which bid the body here beneath, good-night.

Joe Miller, of facetious memory, next claims our attention. We find it stated in Chambers's "Book of Days" (issued 1869) as follows: Miller was interred in the burial-ground of the parish of St. Clement Danes, in Portugal Street, where a tombstone was erected to his memory. About ten years ago that burial-ground, by the removal of the mortuary remains, and the demolition of the monuments, was converted into a site for King's College Hospital. Whilst this not unnecessary, yet undesirable, desecration was in progress, the writer saw Joe's tombstone lying on the ground; and being told that it would be broken up and used as materials for the new building, he took an exact copy of the inscription, which was as follows:--

Here lye the Remains of Honest JO: MILLER, who was a tender Husband, a sincere Friend, a facetious Companion, and an excellent Comedian. He departed this Life the 15th day of August 1738, aged 54 years.

If humour, wit, and honesty could save The humourous, witty, honest, from the grave, The grave had not so soon this tenant found, Whom honesty, and wit, and humour, crowned; Could but esteem, and love preserve our breath, And guard us longer from the stroke of Death, The stroke of Death on him had later fell, Whom all mankind esteemed and loved so well.

S. DUCK,

From respect to social worth, mirthful qualities, and histrionic excellence, commemorated by poetic talent in humble life.

The above inscription, which Time had nearly obliterated, has been preserved and transferred to this Stone, by order of Mr. Jarvis Buck, Churchwarden, A.D. 1816.

An interesting sketch of the life of Joe Miller will be found in the "Book of Days," vol. ii., page 216, and in the same informing and entertaining work, the following notes are given respecting the writer of the foregoing epitaph: "The 'S. Duck,' whose name figures as author of the verses on Miller's tombstone, and who is alluded to on the same tablet, by Mr. Churchwarden Buck, as an instance of 'poetic talent in humble life,' deserves a short notice. He was a thresher in the service of a farmer near Kew, in Surrey. Imbued with an eager desire for learning, he, under most adverse circumstances, managed to obtain a few books, and educate himself to a limited degree. Becoming known as a rustic rhymer, he attracted the attention of Caroline, queen of George II., who, with her accustomed liberality, settled on him a pension of £30 per annum; she made him a Yeoman of the Guard, and installed him as keeper of a kind of museum she had in Richmond Park, called Merlin's Cave. Not content with these promotions, the generous, but perhaps inconsiderate, queen caused Duck to be admitted to holy orders, and preferred to the living of Byfleet, in Surrey, where he became a popular preacher among the lower classes, chiefly through the novelty of being the 'Thresher Parson.' This gave Swift occasion to write the following quibbling epigram:--

The thresher Duck could o'er the queen prevail; The proverb says,--"No fence against a flail." From threshing corn, he turns to thresh his brains, For which her Majesty allows him grains; Though 'tis confest, that those who ever saw His poems, think 'em all not worth a straw. Thrice happy Duck! employed in threshing stubble! Thy toil is lessened, and thy profits double.

"One would suppose the poor thresher to have been beneath Swift's notice, but the provocation was great, and the chastisement, such as it was, merited. For though few men had ever less pretensions to poetical genius than Duck, yet the Court party actually set him up as a rival--nay, as superior--to Pope. And the saddest part of the affair was that Duck, in his utter simplicity and ignorance of what really constituted poetry, was led to fancy himself the greatest poet of the age. Consequently, considering that his genius was neglected, and that he was not rewarded according to his poetical deserts by being made the clergyman of an obscure village, he fell into a state of melancholy, which ended in suicide; affording another to the numerous instances of the very great difficulty of doing good. If the well-meaning queen had elevated Duck to the position of farm-bailiff, he might have led a long and happy life, amongst the scenes and the classes of society in which his youth had passed, and thus been spared the pangs of disappointed vanity and misdirected ambition."

Says a thoughtful writer, if truth, perspicuity, wit, gravity, and every property pertaining to the ancient or modern epitaph, were ever united in one of terse brevity, it was that made for Burbage, the tragedian, in the days of Shakespeare:--

"Exit BURBAGE."

Jerrold, perhaps, with that brevity which is the soul of wit, trumped the above by his anticipatory epitaph on that excellent man and distinguished historian, Charles Knight:--

"Good KNIGHT."

Epitaphs on Sportsmen.

The stirring lives of sportsmen have suggested spirited lines for their tombstones, as will be seen from the examples we bring under the notice of our readers.

The first epitaph is from Morville churchyard, near Bridgnorth, on John Charlton, Esq., who was for many years Master of the Wheatland Foxhounds, and died January 20th, 1843, aged 63 years; regretted by all who knew him:--

Of this world's pleasure I have had my share, A few of the sorrows I was doomed to bear. How oft have I enjoy'd the noble chase Of hounds and foxes striving for the race! But hark! the knell of death calls me away, So sportsmen, all, farewell! I must obey.

Our next is written on Mills, the huntsman:--

Here lies JOHN MILLS, who over the hills Pursued the hounds with hallo: The leap though high, from earth to sky, The huntsman we must follow.

A short, rough, but pregnant epitaph is placed over the remains of Robert Hackett, a keeper of Hardwick Park, who died in 1703, and was buried in Ault Hucknall churchyard:--

Long had he chased The Red and Fallow Deer, But Death's cold dart At last has fix'd him here.

George Dixon, a noted fox-hunter, is buried in Luton churchyard, and on his gravestone the following appears:--

Stop, passenger, and thy attention fix on, That true-born, honest, fox-hunter, GEORGE DIXON, Who, after eighty years' unwearied chase, Now rests his bones within this hallow'd place. A gentle tribute of applause bestow, And give him, as you pass, one _tally-ho_! Early to cover, brisk he rode each morn, In hopes the _brush_ his temple might adorn; The view is now no more, the chase is past, And to an earth, poor George is run at last.

On a stone in the graveyard of Mottram the following inscription appears:--

In the memory of GEORGE NEWTON, of Stalybridge, who died August 7th, 1871, in the 94th year of his age.

Though he liv'd long, the old man has gone at last, No more he'll hear the huntsman's stirring blast; Though fleet as Reynard in his youthful prime, At last he's yielded to the hand of Time.

Blithe as a lark, dress'd in his coat of green, With hounds and horn the old man was seen. But ah! Death came, worn out and full of years, He died in peace, mourn'd by his offsprings' tears.

"Let us run with patience the race that is set before us."

In the churchyard of Ecclesfield, may be read the following epitaph:--

In memory of THOMAS RIDGE, the Ecclesfield huntsman, who died 13th day of January, 1871, Aged 77 years.

Though fond of sport, devoted of the chase, And with his fellow-hunters first in place, He always kept the Lord's appointed day, Never from church or Sunday-school away. And now his body rests beneath the sod, His soul relying in the love of God.

Of the many epitaphs on sportsmen to be seen in Nottinghamshire, we cull a few of the choicest. Our first is a literal copy from a weather-worn stone in Eakring churchyard, placed to the memory of Henry Cartwright, senior keeper to his Grace the Duke of Kingston for fifty-five years, who died February 13th, 1773, aged eighty years, ten months, and three weeks:--

My gun discharged, my ball is gone My powder's spent, my work is done, those panting deer I have left behind, May now have time to Gain their wind, Who I have oft times Chass'd them ore the burial Plains, but now no more.

We next present particulars of a celebrated deer-stealer. According to a notice furnished in the "Nottingham Date Book," the deeds of Tom Booth were for many years after his death a never-failing subject of conversational interest in Nottingham. It is stated that no modern deer-stealer was anything like so popular. Thorsby relates one exploit as follows:--"In Nottingham Park, at one time, was a favourite fine deer, a chief ranger, on which Tom and his wily companions had often cast their eyes; but how to deceive the keeper while they killed it was a task of difficulty. The night, however, in which they accomplished their purpose--whether by any settled plan or not is not known--they found the keeper at watch, as usual, in a certain place in the park. One of them, therefore, went in an opposite direction in the park, and fired his gun to make the keeper believe he had shot a deer; upon which away goes the keeper, in haste, to the spot, which was at a very considerable distance from the place where the favourite deer was, and near which Tom Booth was skulking. Tom, waiting a proper time, when he thought the keeper at a sufficient distance for accomplishing his purpose, fired and killed the deer, and dragged it through the river Leen undiscovered." Booth was a stout man, and by trade a whitesmith. The stone marking the place of his interment is still in good preservation, and stands in St. Nicholas' burial-ground, against the southern wall of the church. It bears the following inscription:

Here lies a marksman, who with art and skill, When young and strong, fat bucks and does did kill. Now conquered by grim Death (go, reader, tell it!) He's now took leave of powder, gun, and pellet. A fatal dart, which in the dark did fly, Has laid him down, among the dead to lie. If any want to know the poor slave's name, 'Tis old TOM BOOTH,--ne'er ask from whence he came.

Old Tom was so highly pleased with the epitaph, which was written before his death, that he had it engraved on the stone some months before its services were required. In addition to the epitaph itself, the head-stone was made to include Booth's name, etc., and also that of his wife, blank places being left in each case for the age and time of death. Booth's compartment of the stone was in due course properly filled up; but the widow, disliking the exhibition of her name on a tombstone while living, resolved that such stone should never indicate her resting-place when dead; she accordingly left an injunction that her body be interred elsewhere, and the inscription is incomplete to this day.

Some time before Amos Street, a celebrated Yorkshire huntsman, died, a stone was obtained, and on it engraved the following lines:--

This is to the memory of OLD AMOS, Who was when alive for hunting famous; But now his chases are all o'er And here he's earth'd, of years four score. Upon this tomb he's often sat And tried to read his epitaph; And thou who dost so at this moment Shall ere long like him be dormant.

Poor "Old Amos" passed away on October 3rd, 1777, and was buried in Birstal churchyard. The foregoing inscription may still be read.

The Rev. R. H. Whitworth tells us: "There is an old monument in the south aisle of Blidworth Church, to the memory of Thomas Leake, Esq., who was killed at Blidworth Rocking, in A.D. 1598. He may be regarded as the last of the race who sat in Robin Hood's seat, if those restless Forest Chiefs, typified under that name, can be supposed ever to have sat at all. Leake held office under the Crown, but was as wild a freebooter as ever drew bow. His character is portrayed in his epitaph:--

Here rests T. LEAKE, whose vertues weere so knowne In all these parts that this engraved stone Needs navght relate bvt his vntimely end Which was in single fight: wylst youth did lend His ayde to valor, hee wth ease orepast Many slyght dangers, greater then this last Bvt willfvlle fate in these things governs all Hee towld ovt threescore years before his fall Most of wch tyme he wasted in this wood Mvch of his wealth and last of all his blood.

The border of this monument is rudely panelled, each panel having some forest hunting subject in relief. There are hounds getting scent, and a hound pursuing an antlered stag; a hunting horn, ribboned; plunging and flaying knives, a crossbow, a forest-bow, two arrows, and two hunters' belts with arrows inserted. This is his register--

THOMAS LEAKE, esquire, buried the 4th February, 1598.

There is a captivating bit of romance connected with Leake's death, which occurred at Archer's Water. Although somewhat 'provectus in ætate,' he had won the affections of the landlady's daughter, much to the annoyance of the mother. Archer's Water was on the old driftroad by Blidworth, from Edinburgh to London, that by which Jeanie Deans travelled, and over which Dick Turpin rode. Hundreds of thousands of Scotch cattle went by this way to town, and there was a difficulty connected with a few of them in which Leake was concerned, and a price being set upon his head, his mother-in-law, that was to be, betrayed him to two young soldiers anxious to secure the reward, one of whom was, in the mother's eyes, the more favoured lover. Tom was always attended by two magnificent dogs, and went well armed. Thrown off his guard he left his dogs in an outhouse, and entering the inn laid aside his weapons, when he was set upon and overpowered, and, like many better men before him, slain. The name of a Captain Salmond of the now extinct parish or manor of Salterford is connected with this transaction. The date of the combat is 2nd February, being the festival of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, with which the highly interesting and historical observance of Blidworth _Rocking_ is connected. Within the memory of living men, a baby decked with such flowers as the season afforded was placed in a cradle and carried about from house to house by an old man, who received a present on the occasion. As the church is dedicated to St. Mary in connection with the Purification, the 2nd of February being the Feast Day, this is probably an interesting reminiscence of some old species of Miracle Play, or observance connected with the foundation. Anciently people from all neighbouring counties used to attend this season. Forest games were played, and amid the attendant licence and confusion, Leake came to his last grief. Not only in this church does this Ranger of the Blidworth Wood, for this was his office, possess a memorial. A large cross was erected, now standing at Fountain Dale, thus inscribed:--

Hoc crucis fragmen Traditum a sylvicolis monumentum Loci ubi in singulari certamine Gladiator ille insignis THO. LEAKE Mori occubui Anno MDXCVIII. Ab antiqua sede remotum H. P. C. Joannes Downall Prid. Non Sext. MDCCCXXXVI.

What became of the daughter tradition sayeth not. Doubtless she died, as Tom Leake's intended bride ought, of grief, and was buried under some grand old oak in Blidworth Forest."

Let us direct attention to another class of sportsmen. At Bunney, a monument is erected to Sir Thomas Parkyns, the well-known wrestler. It bears four lines in Latin, which have been translated thus:--

At length he falls, the long contest's o'er, And Time has thrown whom none e'er threw before; Yet boast not (Time) thy victory, for he At last shall rise again and conquer thee.

The next is copied from a stone in St. Michael's churchyard, Coventry, on a famous fencing master:--

To the memory of Mr. JOHN PARKES, A native of this City He was a man of mild disposition, A Gladiator by profession; Who after having fought 350 battles, In the principal parts of Europe, With honour and applause, At length quitted the stage, sheathed his sword, And with Christian resignation, Submitted to the Grand Victor In the 52nd year of his age Anno Domini 1733.

An old stone bearing the foregoing inscription was replaced by a new one some years ago at the expense of the late S. Carter, Esq., formerly Member of Parliament for Coventry. In the pages of the _Spectator_ honourable mention is made of John Parkes.

In the churchyard of Hanslope is buried Sandy M'Kay, the Scottish giant, who was killed in a prize fight with Simon Byrne. A headstone bears the following inscription:--

Sacred to the memory of ALEX. M'KAY, (Late of Glasgow), Who died 3rd June, 1834, Aged 26 years.

Strong and athletic was my frame; Far from my native home I came, And manly fought with Simon Byrne; Alas! but lived not to return. Reader, take warning of my fate, Lest you should rue your case too late; If you ever have fought before, Determine now to fight no more.

We are informed that Byrne was killed shortly afterwards, whilst engaged in fighting.

From the prize-ring let us turn to the more satisfactory amusement of cricket. In Highgate Cemetery, Lillywhite, the celebrated cricketer, is buried, and over his remains is placed a monument with the significant emblem of a wicket being upset with a ball.

The following lines are said to be copied from a tombstone in a cemetery near Salisbury:--

I bowl'd, I struck, I caught, I stopp'd, Sure life's a game of cricket, I blocked with care, with caution popp'd, Yet Death has hit my wicket.

The tennis ball is introduced in an epitaph placed in St. Michael's Church, Coventry. It reads thus:--

Here lyes the Body of Captain GERVASE SCROPE, of the Family of Scropes, of Bolton, in the County of York, who departed this life the 26th day of August, Anno Domini, 1705.

AN EPITAPH WRITTEN BY HIMSELF IN THE AGONY AND DOLOROUS PAINES OF THE GOUT, AND DYED SOON AFTER.

Here lies an Old Toss'd Tennis Ball, Was Racketted from Spring to Fall With so much heat, and so much hast, Time's arm (for shame) grew tyr'd at last, Four Kings in Camps he truly seru'd, And from his Loyalty ne'r sweru'd. Father ruin'd, the Son slighted, And from the Crown ne'r requited, Loss of Estate, Relations, Blood, Was too well Known, but did no good, With long Campaigns and paines of th' Govt, He cou'd no longer hold it out: Always a restless life he led, Never at quiet till quite dead, He marry'd in his latter dayes, One who exceeds the com'on praise, But wanting breath still to make Known Her true Affection and his Own, Death kindly came, all wants supply'd By giuing Rest which life deny'd.

We conclude this class of epitaphs with a couple of piscatorial examples. The first is from the churchyard of Hythe:--

His net old fisher George long drew, Shoals upon shoals he caught, 'Till Death came hauling for his due, And made poor George his draught. Death fishes on through various shapes, In vain it is to fret; Nor fish nor fisherman escapes Death's all-enclosing net.

In the churchyard of Great Yarmouth, under date of 1769, an epitaph runs thus:--

Here lies doomed, In this vault so dark, A soldier weaver, _angler_, and clerk; Death snatched him hence, and from him took His gun, his shuttle, fish-rod, and hook, He could not weave, nor fish, nor fight, so then He left the world, and faintly cried--Amen.

Bacchanalian Epitaphs.

Some singular epitaphs are to be found over the remains of men who either manufactured, dispensed, or loved the social glass. In the churchyard of Newhaven, Sussex, the following may be seen on the grave of a brewer:--

To the memory of THOMAS TIPPER who departed this life May the 14th 1785 Aged 54 Years.

READER, with kind regard this GRAVE survey Nor heedless pass where TIPPER'S ashes lay, Honest he was, ingenuous, blunt, and kind; And dared do, what few dare do, speak his mind, PHILOSOPHY and HISTORY well he knew, Was versed in PHYSICK and in Surgery too, The best old STINGO he both brewed and sold, Nor did one knavish act to get his Gold. He played through Life a varied comic part, And knew immortal HUDIBRAS by heart. READER, in real truth, such was the Man, Be better, wiser, laugh more if you can.

The next, on John Scott, a Liverpool brewer, is rather rich in puns:--

Poor JOHN SCOTT lies buried here; Although he was both hale and stout Death stretched him on the bitter bier. In another world he hops about.

On a butler in Ollerton churchyard is the following curious epitaph:--

Beneath the droppings of this spout, Here lies the body once so stout, Of FRANCIS THOMPSON. A soul this carcase once possess'd, Which of its virtues was caress'd, By all who knew the owner best. The Ruffords records can declare, His action who, for seventy year, Both drew and drank its potent beer; Fame mentions not in all that time, In this great Butler the least crime, To stain his reputation. To envy's self we now appeal, If aught of fault she can reveal, To make her declaration. Here rest good shade, nor hell nor vermin fear, Thy virtues guard thy soul, thy body good strong beer. He died July 6th, 1739.

We will next give a few epitaphs on publicans. Our first is from Pannal churchyard; it is on Joseph Thackerey, who died on the 26th of November, 1791:--

In the year of our Lord 1740 I came to the Crown; In 1791 they laid me down.

The following is from the graveyard of Upton-on-Severn, and placed to the memory of a publican. The lines, it will be seen, are a dexterous weaving of the spiritual with the temporal:--

Beneath this stone, in hope of Zion, Doth lie the landlord of the "Lion," His son keeps on the business still, Resign'd unto the Heavenly will.

In 1789 passed away the landlady of the "Pig and Whistle," Greenwich, and the following lines were inscribed to her memory:--