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Her brain all tumult; ragged her attire;
The sport of boys when wallowing in the mire.
Life did to her like a wild tempest seem;

And Death, as sinking to a horrid dream.

Hence learn, ye brutes, who reel in human shape, To you superior is the grinning ape: For nature's wise impulses he'll pursue, Whilst each dread start of frenzy governs you."

MISERS.

On an old miser :

"Here lies Father SPARGES,

Who died to save charges."

On a miser :

"Reader, beware, immoderate love of pelf!

Here lies the worst of thieves-who robb'd himself."

On a miser:

"Here lies Old Father GRIPE,

Who never cried Jam satis.'
'Twould wake him did he know,
You read his tombstone-gratis."

On a miser:

"A wealthy merchant died, his body was dissected,

No sympton of disease was any where detected,

Until they reach'd the heart, which to find they were

unable,

But in its place they found, a Compound Interest Table."

JOHN COMBE, of usurious memory, told Shakspeare, that he fancied he intended to write his epitaph, if he happened to outlive him; and since he could not know what might be said of him when dead, he desired it might be done immediately; upon which Shakspeare gave him these lines:

"Ten in the hundred lies here ingraved,

'Tis an hundred to ten his soul is not saved:

If any man ask, who lies in this tomb?

Oh! oh! quoth the Devil, ''tis my John-a-Combe."

Shakspeare survived him nearly 2 years, and in the church of Stratford, close by the tomb of Shakspeare, is a full-length effigy of John Coomb, cut in alabaster, with a gown on, and the following inscription :—

"Here lyeth interred the Body of JOHN COомв, Esq.; who dy'd the 10th of July, 1614, who bequeathed several Annual Charities to the Parish of Stratford, and £100 to be lent to fifteen poor Tradesmen from three years to three years, Changing the Parties every third Year, at the rate of fifty Shillings per Annum, The Increase to be distributed to the Almes-poore there."

On a miser:

"Here lies one who for medicines would not give A little gold, and so his life he lost;

I fancy now he'd wish again to live,

Could he but guess how much his funeral cost."

On a liar :

"Good passenger, one does lie here
Who living, did lie everywhere."

On a notorious liar :

"I always lied, and lied till Death,
But now I lie for want of breath."

On an inveterate liar :

"Of WILLIAM KNOX this truth may say,
And there is no denying,

That here till he was forced to lay
He never gave up lying."

"Under this stone

Lies Mister BONE;

He lying lived, and lying died,
For dying or living, he always lied."

MAIDENS AND LADIES.

On a Gallant Lady.-By the Honorable Mrs. Monk, daughter of Lord Molesworth, and a celebrated poetess. She died in 1715 :

"O'er this marble drop a tear,

Here lies fair ROSALIND.

All mankind were pleased with her,

And she with all mankind."

Jones's Biog. Dic.

On an old maid (by Wm. Cowper, the poet) :—
"For threescore years, this life CLEORA led,
At morn she rose, at night she went to bed."

On an old maid, who dropped 10 years of her age : "A stiff-starch'd virgin of unblemish'd fame, And spotless virtue, BRIDGET COLE by name; At length the death of all the righteous dies, Aged just four and fifty-' Here she Lies.'"

On a lady, famed for her caprice (by Robert Burns):

"Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,
What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beam;
Want only of wisdom denied her respect,

Want only of goodness denied her esteem."

On an old Lady, in Hendon churchyard, Middlesex:"Reader! she rambled all this desert through In search of happiness: nor found repose Till she had reached the borders of the waste: Full many a flower that blossom'd in her path She stopt to gather; and the fruit she pluck'd That hung from many a tempting bough: all but The Rose of Sharon and the Tree of Life. This flung its fragrance to the gale, and spread Its blushing beauties; that its healing leaves Displayed, and fruit immortal- -all in vain.

She neither tasted, nor admired; and found

All that she chose and tasted, fair-but false;

The flowers no sooner gathered, than they faded;
The fruits enchanting, dust and bitterness;

And all the world a wilderness of care.

Wearied, dispirited, and at the close

Of this eventful course, she sought the plant

Which long her heedless haste o'erlooked: and prov'd
Its sovereign virtues: underneath its shade
Outstretched, drew from her wounded feet the thorns,
Breath'd the last sigh- -shed the last tear-
And here the aged pilgrim rests in trembling hope."

On IRISH NELL, of Wapping.-A heroine of some celebrity, distinguished by the name of IRISH NELL, died some time ago, in Well-court, Wapping. Her house had long been a friendly asylum for travellers of every description. The inhabitants of the frozen regions, and the negro from the sultry climes of Ethiopia, often sought refuge under her roof. Jews, Turks, Christians, and Pagans, received the same welcome. Their accommodation was liberal, on reasonable terms; and, unlike

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