Church-yard gleanings and epigrammatic scraps, a collection of epitaphs and epigrams by W. Pulleyn

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Page 107 - Here lies Fred, Who was alive, and is dead. Had it been his father, I had much rather. Had it been his brother, Still better than another. Had it been his sister, No one would have missed her. Had it been the whole generation, Still better for the nation. But since 'tis only Fred, Who was alive, and is dead, There's no more to be said.
Page 97 - Is there a man, whose judgment clear Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs himself life's mad career, Wild as the wave ; Here pause— and, through the starting tear, Survey this grave.
Page 241 - Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd; Honour unchang'd, a principle profest, Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest: An honest courtier, yet a patriot too, Just to his prince, and to his country true, Fill'd with the sense of age, the fire of youth, A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth; A generous faith, from superstition free; A love to peace, and hate of tyranny ; Such this man was ; who now, from earth remov'd, At length enjoys that liberty he lov'd.
Page 5 - They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their deaths they were not divided.
Page 186 - A prison is a house of care. A place where none can thrive, A touchstone true to try a friend, A grave for one alive. Sometimes a place of right. Sometimes a place of wrong, Sometimes a place of rogues and thieves, And honest men among.
Page 78 - Wide o'er this breathing world, a Garrick came. Though sunk in death the forms the Poet drew, The Actor's genius bade them breathe anew; Though, like the bard himself, in night they lay, Immortal Garrick call'd them...
Page 253 - Thy country's friend, but more of human kind. O ! born to arms ! O ! worth in youth approv'd ! O ! soft humanity in age belov'd ! For thee the hardy veteran drops a tear, And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere. Withers, adieu ! yet not with thee remove Thy martial spirit, or thy social love ! Amidst corruption, luxury, and rage, Still leave some ancient virtues to our age : Nor let us say (those English glories gone ) The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.
Page 80 - Cold is that hand, which living was stretch'd forth, At friendship's call, to succour modest worth. Here lies James Quin — deign reader to be taught, Whate'er thy strength of body, force of thought, In Nature's...
Page 3 - ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER, Who sickened in the time of his Vacancy, being forbid to go to London by reason of the Plague Here lies old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt, And here, alas! hath laid him in the dirt; Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown. 'Twas such a shifter that, if truth were known, Death was half glad when he had got him down; For he...
Page 212 - Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you for your pains ; Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains.

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