This epitaph is also quoted by Sir Jas. Ley,' from Mathew of Westminster,2 thus :

In clene kau bathe Kenelin Kynebearne,
Lith under thorne heaved byreaved.

Hearne's Discourses, p. 121.

2 Ib. p. 298, 230.

Leonine verses prevailed in monumental inscriptions of the twelfth century. That of Gundrada,' the daughter of the Conqueror, at Lewes, is an apt illustration of this kind.

1 In 1845 I paid a visit to Lewes to examine the tomb and remains of Gundrada, the fifth daughter of William the Conqueror and the wife of William Earl of Warenne. The leaden coffins of the earl and his wife, who were the founders of the Lewes Priory, had been discovered in making a cutting through the spot once so famous for its Cluniac Monastery founded soon after the Conquest, for the Hastings and Brighton Railway. There

A full description of the discovery will be seen in the Journal of th British Archæological Association, vol. i. pp. 346-357, and vol. ii. pp.

104-108.

Stirps, GUNDRADA, ducum, decus ævi, nobile germen,
Intulit ecclesiis Anglorum balsama morum,

Mart [is (or tha) hanc ædem struxit Pancrati in honorem.]'
Martha fuit miseris, facit ex pietate Maria;
Pars obiit Marthe, superest pars magna Marie,
O pie Pancrati, testis pietatis et equi,

Te facit heredem, tu clemens suscipe matrem.
Sexta kalendarum Junii lux obvia carnis
Infregit alabastrum, [superest pars optima cœlo.]
GUNDRED, illustrious branch of ducal race,
Brought into England's church balsamic grace;
Pious as Mary, and as Martha kind,

To generous deeds she gave her virtuous mind.
Though the cold tomb her Martha's part receives,
Her Mary's better part for ever lives,

O holy Pancras! keep with gracious care,
A mother who has made thy sons her heir.
On the sixth calend of June's fatal morn,
The marble frame, by inward struggles torn,
Freed the pure soul, which upwards bent its way,
To realms of love, and scenes of endless day.

In France, there were few Epitaphs in the French language before the thirteenth century, and these were chiefly soliciting the prayers of the living for the souls of the departed; a practice common in Roman Catholic countries, and much followed in England, as seen upon various incised slabs, brasses, &c., recorded in the Archæologia, County Histories, &c. French epitaphs were common in England till the middle of the fourteenth, but continued to be used in the fifteenth century. The specimen in Canterbury Cathedral, of Edward the Black Prince, who died in 1376, affords an excellent example.

Tu qi passez oue bouche close:

Par la ou ce corps repose:

could be no question as to who were the occupants, for their names were inscribed.

The portions distinguished in italics have been suggested by Mr Blauw, for those which are now lost in the inscription.

Entent ce qe te dirai:

Sicome le dire le say:

Tiel come tu es ie au tiel fu:
Tu serras tiel come ie su:
De la mort ne pensai ie mye:
Tantcome iauoi la vie :
En t're auoi gand richesse:
Dont ie y fis gand noblesse :
Terre mesons & gand tresor:
Draps chiuaux argent & or:
Mes ore su ieo poures & cheitifs :
Per fond en la t're gis:

Ma gand beaute est tout alee:
Ma char est tout gastee:
Moult est estroit ma meson:
En may na si verite non :
Et si ore me veissez :

Je ne quide pas qe vous deissez:
Le ie eusse onqes homme este:
Si su ie ore de tant changee:
Pur dieu priez au celestien Roy.
Qe mercy ait de larme de moy:
Touz ceulx qe pur moy prieront:
On a dieu macorderont:
Dieu les mette en son paray.
Ou nul ne poet estre cheitifs.

:

Whoso thou be that passeth bye,
Where these corpes interred lie
Understand what I shall saye,
As at this time speake I maye.
Such as thou art, sometyme was I;
Such as I am, such shalt thou bee.
I little thought on the houre of death,
Soe long as I enjoyed breath;
Greate riches here I did possesse,
Whereof I made great noblenesse ;
I had gold, silver, wardrobe, and
Greate treasures, horses, houses, lan le,
But now a caitiffe, poore am I,
Deepe in the ground, lo here I lie!

My beautye greate is all quite gone,
My fleshe is wasted to the bone.

My house is narrow nowe and thronge,
Nothinge but truthe comes from my tongue:
And if ye shoulde see mee this daye,

I do not thinke but ye wolde saye,
That I had never beene a man;

So moch altered nowe I am!

For God's sake, praye to the heavenly kinge,
That he my soul to heaven wolde bringe;
All theye that praye and make accorde
For mee unto my God and Lorde;
GOD place them in his paradice,
Wherein noe wretched caitiffe lies.

Another more modern version has been given in the Gentle man's Magazine, from the pen of Mr. J. Gough Nichols :

Whoe'er thou art, with lips comprest,

That passest where this corpse doth rest,
To that I tell thee, list, O man!

So far as I to tell thee can.

Such as thou art I was but now,
And as I am so shalt be thou.
Death little did my thoughts employ,
So long as I did life enjoy;

On earth great riches were my fate,
With which I kept a noble state;
Great lands, great houses, treasure great,
Hangings and horses, gold and plate.
But now I am but poor and base,
Deep in the earth is now my place,
My flesh is wasted all away,
Reduced my splendour to decay;
My house is very strait and short,
Forsooth in me is utter naught,
Nay, such a change has past o'er me,
That, could you now my features see,
I scarcely think you aught could scan
To show that I was once a man.

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