University of Virginia Library

EPITAPHS.

On him that was said to be pull'd in peeces in playing the Beare.

Epitaph. 1.

Here lies a Man; nay, who there,
Here lies a Man that dyde a Beare.

On an Hermaphrodite.

Epi. 2

Here lies a Man and Woman too;
And yet wants One to make them Two.

On one Gwillim a common cryer of a Towne.

Epitaph. 3.

Here lies the Common Cryer Gwillim;
So, cryd for life, till Death die still him.

On an Harlot call'd Meg-Mutton of Heref:

Epitaph. 4.

Here lies Megmutton (who could liue no longer
To make Death a Glutton, and true Mutton-monger.

Upon a noted common-lyer, Iack-ap Iack.

Epitaph. 5.

Here lies Iack-ap Iack; and wot yee why?
A liue he still lyde; and, dead, still must lye.
Who, in his life, lyde willingly still:
But here, in death, lies against his will.

On the Woman that was burnt in Smithfield for killing her Master, in her anger.

Epitaph. 6.

Here good people, in the Dust,
Truely Lieth Choller-adust:
Which kill'd, through heate; so, burn'd, with Dolor:
Then, here lies truely, Burned-choller.

Vpon one borne blinde.

Epitaph. 7.

Here lies a man that ne're saw wo
Being borne blind, to feele it so.

Vpon Iohn of all Iohns.

Iohn of all Iohns here lies: what than?
Were all Iohns honor'd in this Man?
Yes, that they were: and, wot yee why?
Cannot you tell? in troth nor I.

On one Wood a miser, burnt by a Queane.

Epi. 9.

Reader, reade; and, thinke thereon,
Here lies Wood beneath this Stone:
Who was harder than the higher,
Yet was burnt without a fier.

On one who built himselfe bankeroupt, to keepe the poore on worke.

Epi. 10.

Reader smile, or else looke off,
For, here lies the Peoples Scoff:
Who, that Beggers well might do,
Built himselfe a Begger too.

On one that yeelded his Weapons in priuat fight; the conceipt whereof after brake his heart.

Epi. 11.

This Stone conceales a Man almost,
Who, by his Manhood, Manhood lost.

On one that a Queane made to Father her Bastard, begotten by his Man.

Epi. 12.

Here lies a Man was got with Child
By a Maid that him defilde:
Who made him, when she was a Mother,
Father her Child got by another.

Vpon one Church-euill a debosh'd base Whore-hunter, who dyed of the Pox.

Epi. 13.

Here lies a Church, tryumphant still in euill;
That neuer fought with sin the world nor Diuell
But still with Flesh he changed friendly knocks;
And so, to shun the Plague, dyde of the Pox.

On a common Drunkard.

Epi. 14.

Here lies a Man that ner'e saw Man;
For he ner'e lookt but in a Can.

On an English stutting-Booke-seller who learned French, to sell Bookes to French-men.

Epi. 15.

Here lies Sam: although a Stutter,
Yet many a word, in Print, did vtter:
Yet had no Tonge at all to spare,
But one he bought to sell his Ware.

On Tarlton.

Epi. 16.

Here within this sullen Earth
Lies Dick-Tarlton, Lord of mirth;
Who in his Graue still, laughing, gapes
Syth all Clownes since haue beene his Apes:
Earst he of Clownes to learne still sought;
But now they learne of him they taught
By Art far past the Principall;
The Counterfet is, so, worth all,

On a rare Dyer of Silke.

Epi. 17.

Here lies one, who lyu'd by dying,
Yet dyde truely till this lying.

On a selfe conceited Foole.

Epi. 18.

Here lies a Man that was an Asse
Then Is he better than he was.

On one who cheated his Father.

Epi. 19.

Here lies a Man, who in a span
Of life, beyond his Father ran.

Epi. 20.

Here Iohn of Powles but hids his head:
For, none can say good Iohn is dead.

On Iohn A-Stile.

Epi. 318.

If yee be men, then stay a while,
And know here lyeth Iohn A Stile,
If yee know him not; why then,
Its ten to one y'are honest men.

On Rauiliack who murdered Henry the fourth French-King. 22.

Heere lies Rauiliack (the whole heauens vnder)
aboue the Earth, Heau'n, Earth, & Hels iust wōder,
Thogh all these 3. most iustly wonder at him,
The thing procures more wonder that begat him:
For, though that thing, in Ill, past all comparing,
Yet nought could ought beget so damd & daring.

On George a Greene, Pinder of Wakefield. 23.

Heere doth lie good George-a-Greene
Nor tasted, smelt, felt, heard, or seene:
But yet when George at Wakefield dwelt:
Many did smell, while him they felt.

On little Iohn.

Heere lies little Iohn, not little some weene:
Yet now hee's so little he cannot be seene.

On Billy Grime.

Here lies Billy Gryme
Who neuer was storer;
But first and last Slyme,
And, euer a Rorer.
For, though dead bee Will,
His Name roreth still.

On a Roring Boy calld Thing.

Fie vppo'nt, it maddes me neere
A stabbing Thing should stil lye heere;
Yet, if now still lye he should not,
He must hang; for, stand he could not.

Of one Baudyman, whose name and nature were one. 27.

If I should tell you, heere doth lye
A Man; perhaps you'l say I lye:
But, though a Beast ye proue him can:
Yet was (at least) a Baudy-man.

Of one R. Hand that died of the Poxe. 28.

Now by this Hand I wrong him not,
Heere lies a Hand that, dead, doth rot:
And was so rotten ere hee dide,
That now he is lesse putrifide.

Upon a Youngster, who lay with a Maid, at the Labour in vaine. 29.

Would you thinke it? I thinke you would not:
Heere lies a youth that would but could not.

On a man borne dumbe. 30.

Beleeue it heere one dead doth lye,
Who in his life, could neuer lye:
For he was dumbe; then lye could nere,
But in his death, he still lyes heere.

Uppon one Eleazer Death a good fellow Taylor. 31.

If Death a Taylor bee, why then
He must prick Lice, not Maids nor Men.

Deaths Epitaph. 32.

Heere Death's inter'd, that liud by Bread:
Then, all should liue, now Death is dead.

On one Forgot a Pitman. 34.

Heere lyes, but what! that know I not:
Then (Reader) know, it is Forgot:
And yet if it thou dost not know,
Read but That and it wil shew.

On a short spare man, that wore alwayes an huge paire of Cloke-bag hose. 35.

That earth might dissolue the stitches,
Heere lies (rak't) a paire of Breeches:
Nought could weare them sith they had
Nought to weare them but a Shade.

On Iohn an Oakes.

Epitaph. 36.

Halla, my Mates, here make a stand,
And read who lies here; vnderstand
It's Iohn a Nokes the Lawiers foole;
Yet puts them still, for Law, to schoole.

One Ro: Gose a light-headed wanton.

Epitaph. 37.

Here lies a Sot, that liu'd too loose;
Read soft, then, least yee wake the Goose.

On a Sot that was held honest though such cannot bee so.

Epitaph. 38.

VVould yee thinke it? I thinke not;
Here doth lie an honest Sot.
Then, let him lie still in his Graue,
Left this World make the Foole a Knaue.

On one N. Pot, a dunkard who was stabb'd in an Ale-house.

Epitaph. 39.

Reader , though it's stincking stale,
Here lies spilt a Pot of Ale:
So, he hath small reckning got,
Though he were the reckning Pot.

On an idle prattler, nick-named Words.

Epitaph. 40.

Alas that euer he was borne,
Here lies a Man to Nothing worne;
Yet is more than he was (I trust)
He was but Words; but, now is Dust.

On one H. Quarrell.

Epit. 41.

If yee come, come on your perill,
For here lies a morrall Quarrell:
It is mortall, yet yee may
Finde it dead without a Fray.

One one B. Holiday.

Epit. 42.

Ah! out, alas, and well-away,
Here lies still, an Holyday.
Had it beene working; then, yee know,
It could not lie still, to be so.
Yet, when Holyday shall rise,
Hee'l fall, then, to some exercise.

Being desir'd to make an Epitaph on an ill-belou'd rich miserable yong-man whose name was Bright; and whose mothers name by her father, was Sparke; he writ.

Epitaph. 45.

Now, by this light,
Here, in the Darke,
Doth light one Bright,
That was a Sparke.

Foure sad Epitaphs.

A Epitaph on the death of the most famous Bishop; both for good learning, and good liuing, Doctor Tomson-Bishop of Gloucester.

Epitaph. 46.

This Tombe enwombes a Child of God, whose grace,
Wit, Art and Nature still, were so exact,
As makes his praisefil Time, and orefill Place;
Yet, in this Place his Corps lies close compact!
Then, such a sunne this Tomb doth now enwombe
As no such Tom-sonne, Tomb did e're entombe!

On Master W. Woodcock, a vertuous discreete and rare Scholler.

Epitaph. 47.

Here lies a Woodcock honest, learn'd, and wise,
Safe from the suares of all his enemies:
No Woodcock, then, in Nature, but in Name:
For which not He, but Fortune was too blame.

The Authors

Epitaph. 48.

Long after All was made, I, made, was marr'd
By Error of my Parents ere I err'd:
For, to the World I came through their offence,
Which made me sinfull, in mine Innocence.
I lou'd the Muses; and sought by them
Long life in this lifes shadow of a Dreame;
But, I am gon; and, my Remaines (I gesse)
Are but the Laboures of my Idlenesse
Which, liuing, die: so all thereby I got
Is Fame (perhaps) which (past perhaps) Is not;
At least Is not to me; sith dead I am:
And, haue no sence of Aire, Fames surer Name.
I lou'd Faire-writing; and, could Write as faire
As any that for That had got that Aire.
I taught it others; but my greatest Fee
Was fairest-fame the fowler shame for mee
In Mens accompt; who hold all Gettings vaine
That tend to Grace and Glory more than Gaine.
My Heart was Manly, in a double-sence,
Kind to my Friends and apt to giue offence
To my Offenders: so, Heart, Hand, and Head
Had precious Guifts, that did me little stead.
I found the World as Abel found it; sith
It harm'd me most that medl'd least therewith.
I found my Flesh my Houshold Foe; while I
The Diuell found my forraigne enemy:
So, Inwardly and Outwardly I found
My life still Millitant; till in this Ground
I lay intrench'd: where safe I lie from fight,
Equall to Cæsar in our present plight:
If oddes there be; herein it now doth rest,
I, being a Christian-man, must needs be best:
My soule is in his hand, that made me so;
His Glories Subiect still, in Weale, or Woe.

On a vertuous faire-maide Mistresse Eliza: Amber.

Epitaph. 49.

On a Bankcrupt called Myte.

Epitaph. 51.

Reader, read right,
And thou shalt see,
Here lies a Myte
Not worth a Cee.

On a wicked fellow called P. Godsoll.

Epita. 51.

Lord! that men should read, or say,
Here lies God-sole turn'd to Clay:
Yet, sith she was no soule of God,
He turn'd too wel, when he turn'd Clod.

Of one Woorth that died Lowsie, hauing had a good lyuing; but spent it leawdly.

Epit. 52.

Here lies Woorth
Of little price;
And, so foorth;
The rest is Lice.

On one Elizabeth Butter a faire maide.

Epitaph. 53.

Here lies sweete Butter turn'd to Grasse,
To make sweete Butter as it was.

On one I. Cheese, an old Leatcher.

Epitaph. 53.

Here lies old Cheese, who doth not know it,
Aske but the Grubs, and they will shew it.

On one P. Cocke, a rich foole, who gaue much money by wil, to make him a faire Tombe.

Epit. 56.

Here lies a Cocke, he mist the Combe
Hardly, to haue with Wise men Roome:
But now he is dead, it doth appeare,
He's proud of his owne dunghill here.

On a common Drunkard call'd Man.

Epitaph. 56.

Can yee thinke it? if yee can,
Then here lies a Beast-like Man.

On one call'd Iaques.

Epitaph. 57.

Fie out vp on't, spue, spit, and cough;
A Iakes here lieth: Mary, fough!

On one Wit, whose mother died with his birth; a contentious fellow.

Epitaph. 58.

Come a long, and Nothing by:
For, Wit bought deerely, here doth lie:
That's good for nothing; then be glad,
That good for nought, may here be had.

On the Cripple, who stole the weather-cocke of Paules.

Epitaph. 59.

Here lies the Cripple,
That stole Paules-weather-cocke,
From that high Steeple
By night, at Twelue a Clocke:
If now he could flye here
(As then) past his fellowes,
Yer he would lie here,
He would climbe to the Gallowes.

On one called Holyday a great gamester kill'd playing at Primero.

Epitaph. 60.

Here lies gaming Holyday,
VVho wan his greatest Rest by play:
For, at Primero, in his Brest,
He got a Stab, that wan this Rest.

Vpon one Denis who slue one in a Tennis-court about the difference of a Chase.

Epitaph. 61.

Here lies one Denis
That plaide well at Tenis;
But as the Line he crost,
It him so intangled,
That him it strangled:
So, his Time Set, he lost.

On one Gold, a great Dicer.

Epit. 62.

Here lies Gold, that past at Dice;
Yet be it told, to know the price:
And for it went so light away,
It shalbe spent, here, Night and Day.

On No-body, as he is fancied & set foorth in picture.

Epitaph. 63.

Body of me here lies No-body,
That is; Nothing, like a Noddy:
Then, the shortest Epitaph
Fits him best that no place hath.

On a double fellow, ill composed.

Epit. 64.

Here lies one double in his Graue:
For, he was still a Foole, and Knaue.

On a skiruy fellow, enriched by a Queane.

Epit. 65.

Here lies a Scab
Made by a Drab.

On a Userer.

Egitaph.

Here still lieth Ten pur Cent:
In Deaths house, and payes no rent;
Then its like he lends to Death,
On this Free-hold, his dearest Breath.

On one Norman, an ill man. 66.

Within this Graue, heere lies, alone,
Nor-man, nor Beast; but both in one.

On one Maister Linder, that was burnt by a Drab: and thereof dyed. 67.

Here lies lusty Linder:
But it is cleere,
Had he not linde her,
Hee had not layne heere.

On a most intollerable curst Wife. 68.

If it be true, as I heare tell,
Some affirme the Graue is Hell:
And if Hell bee, then, so neere,
The veriest Diuill of Hell lies heere.

On one that lou'd Sacke as his Soule. 69.

On a Pander. 70.

Heere lies no-man,
But a Wo-man.
Woman? Fye no.
Man then? Why no.
What then is it;
That doth visit
Those that wander,
Call'd a Pander.

On a common quarreller. 71.

Did you euer see the like,
Heere lies one that still doth strike:
Aliue, he Strake both Friends and foes;
And, dead, his stinke strikes eithers Nose.

On one called Hinde, a miserable Vsurer. 72.

Within the Dust, heere lyes a Hinde,
That heere would weare soone out of mind:
Then lest this Dust, Times eyes should blinde,
Bee't knowne to all: Heere lyes a Hinde.

Epitaph. 73.

None would thinke it by and by,
Heere lies one that cannot lye.

On a Bridewell-Beadle. 74.

Here lies a Bridewell-Beggers-Beadle,
Once cas'd in Blew, whereon Death plaies
As on his basest Crowde, or Fiddle;
And, for his whipping, him he Flayes.

On a Man whose name was Mouse. 75.

Heere lies a Man: nay, bate me an Ase;
Heere lies a Mouse in a Mans Case.

On one Nichols, that chang'd his Religion, many times. 76.

Heere lies Iack of both sides, right on his Back,
who for he did sooth sides, all sides cal him Iack,
Then on his Belly or Back he must bide,
Because he could ne're lye still on a Side.

On one Loue a Gold-finder alias a Iakes-Farmer. 77.

If yee can smell,
Then draw ye neere:
And you'l soone tell
Who lyeth heere.

On a tall Coward. 78.

Faith sir no; it is not so:
Then who lies heere you cannot know;
Yet was a Man exceeding tall,
And yet he was no man at all!

By one Shockman hang'd in chaines on a Hill. 79.

Heere still sleepes Shockman,
On this heauy Hill:
Yet when Death doth rock-man,
He wags, sleeping still.

On a, Bankeroupt that liu'd (till he died) long in Ludgate, oft begging in the Hole. 80.

None can tell who lyeth heere
Sith he neuer did appeare:
For; he liu'd and dide in Warde;
So, nere was seene but often heard.