The Poems of Charles Sackville :: :: University of Virginia Library

Epitaph on Mrs. Lundy

Here lies little Lundy a yard deep or more,
That never lay silent or quiet before,
For her brain was still working, her tongue was still prating,
And the pulse of her heart continually beating,
To the utmost extremes of loving and hating.
Her reason and humor were always at strife,
But yet she perform'd all the duties of life,
For she was a true friend and a pretty good wife.
So indulgent a mother that no one could say
Whether Minty or Patty did rule or obey,
For the government changed some ten times a day.
At the hour of her birth some lucky star gave her
Wit and beauty enough to have lasted for ever;
But fortune, still froward when nature is kind,
A narrow estate maliciously join'd
To a very great genius and a generous mind.
Her body was made of that superfine clay,
Which is apt to be brittle for want of allay;
And when, without show of outward decay,
It began by degrees to molder away,
Her soul, then too busy on some foreign affair,
Of its own pretty dwelling took so little care,
That the tenement fell for want of repair.
Far be from hence both the fool and the knave,
But let all who pretend to be witty or brave,
Whether gen'rous friend or amorous slave,
Contribute some tears to water her grave.