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Ottory St. Mary, Devonshire.

Near this marble lies to rest,

Of John, and Richard Cooke, the dust;
Who here must rest as in a bed,

Till death and grave give up their dead.

King's Teignton, Devonshire.

The inhabitants of which were formerly much afflicted with agues.

Richardus Adlam, hujus Ecclesiæ
Vicarius, obiit Feb. 10, 1670.

Apostrophe ad Mortem ;

Dam'd tyrant! can't prophaner blood suffice?

Must priests that offer be the sacrifice?

Go tell the genii that in Hades lye,
Thy triumphs o'er this sacred calvary;

Till some just Nemesis avenge our cause,
And force this kill-priest to revere good laws!

Stepney Church-Yard.

A flat stone over William Wheatley, 1683.
Whoever treadeth on this stone,

I pray now tread most neatly:
For underneath this stone here lyes
Your honest friend Will, Wheatley.

Battersea Church.

On a brass plate are these words:

HUGH MORGAN, LATE OF BATTERSEY, ESQ.

Sleepeth here in peace: Whom men did late admire for worthful parts.-To queen Elizabeth he was chief pothecary, till her death.

And in his science as he did excel,

In her high favour he did always dwell.
To God religious, to all men kind,

Frank to the poor, rich in content of mind.
These were his virtues, in these dyed he,
When he had liv'd an hundred years and three.

On the same stone another plate thus inscribed:

Cui

Hic jacet venerabilis Vir Hugo Morgan, Moriebatur 13 die Septembr. Anno Dom. 1613. Robertus Morgan generosus, ejus ex fratre nepos, Saxum hoc amoris ergô Posuit.

On the tomb-stone of a young man, who died in consequence of a broken leg, and whose life, previous to that accident, had been very intemperate.

In life's gay prime a thousand joys I sought,
But heaven, and an immortal soul forgot;

In riper years affliction's smarting rod,

And pains and wounds, taught me to know my God;
I bless'd the change with my expiring breath,
And life ascrib'd to that which wrought my death.

On a Friend.

Though here in death thy relicks lie,
Thy worth shall live in memory's eye;
Who oft at night's pale noon shall stray,
To bathe with tears thy lonely clay.
Here pity too, in weeds forlorn,

Shall, mingling sighs, be heard to mourn;
With genius drooping o'er thy tomb,
In sorrow for a brother's doom.

On Lansdown Hill, near Bath.

SIR BEVIL GRANVILLE,

Knighted at Berwick on Tweed, June 23d, 1639—He raised considerable forces at his own charge, in defence of king Charles I. against the parliament —At the battle of Lansdown, near Bath (July 5, 1643,) he led on a party of horse to charge sir William Waller, who had fortified himself on the hill, the summit of which sir Bevil gained, and sustained two full charges of the enemies horse, but the third charge his horse failing and giving ground, he received, after other wounds, a blow on the head, with a poll-axe, with which he fell. Lord

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Clarendon numbers him among those that were the life and soul of the king's cause in the western parts of England. His death was no little grief to the king, who, as it appears, designed him the dignity of an earl, which his son, king Charles II. repeats in a patent dated the 27th of his reign, where he grants to all his posterity, the privileges and honor that the sons and daughters of peers enjoy, and in the same quality and degree, as if he had lived to enjoy those titles of honour designed him by his said majesty's royal father K. Charles F. and which, after the restoration, was conferred on his eldest

son.

This monument was erected by order of the late lord Lansdown, to the honor of his lordship's ancestor, as near as possible to the spot where this brave gentleman was killed on the north side is the following inscription.

Conquest or death was all his thoughts, so fire
Either overcomes, or does itself expire;

His courage work'd like flames, cast heat about
Here, there, on this, on that side; none gave out;
Nor any pike in that renowned stand,

But took new force from his aspiring hand';
Soldier encourag'd soldier, man urged man,
And he urg'd all, so much example can ;
Hurt upon hurt, wound upon wound did call,
He was the mark, the butt, the aim of all ;
His soul this while retired from cell to cell,
At last flew up from all, and then he fell:
But the devoted stand, enrag'd the more
From that his fate, ply'd hotter than before;

And proud to fall with him, sworn not to yield,
Each sought an honour'd grave and won the field;
Thus he being fallen, his actions fought anew,
And the dead conquer'd while the living flew.
Thus slain, thy valiant ancestor did lie,
When his one bark a navy did defy;

When now encompass'd round the victor stood,
And bath'd his pinnance in his conq'ring blood;
'Till all the purple current dry'd and spent,

He fell, and made the waves his monument,
Where shall the next fam'd Granville's ashes stand?
Thy grandsire fills the sea and thou the land.

Stepney.

Susanna Ell, the wife of Richard Ell, died 17th
May, 1643, aged 36 years,

To say an Ell lies here, ev'n that alone
Were Epitaph enough; no brass, no stone,
No glorious tomb, no monumental herse,
No gilded trophy, or long-labor'd verse,
Can dignify her grave, or set it forth,
Like the immortal fame of her own worth.
Then, reader, fix not here, but quit this room,
And fly to Abraham's bosom,-there's her tomb;
There rests her soul; and for her other parts,

They are embalm'd, and lodg'd in good men's hearts,

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