EPITAPH EQUALITY
Now when the number of my years Is all fulfilled and I From sedentary life Shall rouse me up to die, Bury me low and let me lie Under the wide and starry sky. Joying to lire, I joyed to die, Bury me low and let me lie. Stevenson. Poem written, 1879. Probably original of his Requiem. </poem>
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Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie;
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
"Here he lies, where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill."
Stevenson—Requiem, written for himself. Engraved on his tombstone.
To the down Bow of Death
His Forte gave way,
All the Graces in sorrow were drown'd;
Hallelujah Cresendo
Shall be his glad lay
When Da'Capo the Trumpet shall sound.
Epitaph to Samuel Taylor, in Youlgreaves
Churchyard, Derbyshire, England.
Thou third great Canning, stand among our best
And noblest, now thy long day's work hath
ceased,
Here silent in our minster of the West
Who wert the voice of England in the East.
| author = Tennyson
| work = Epitaph on Lord Stratford De
Redcliffe.
Ne'er to these chambers where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation came a nobler guest;
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed
A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.
Thomas TiCKELii—Ode on the Death of Addison.
Later placed on Addison's tomb in Henry
the VII Chapel, Westminster.
Then haste, kind Death, in pity to my age,
And clap the Finis to my life's last page.
May Heaven's great Author my foul proof revise,
Cancel the page in which my error lies,
And raise my form above the etherial skies.
The stubborn pressman's form I now may scoff;
Revised, corrected, finally worked off!
C. H. Timberley, ed. Songs of the Press.
(1845) (gee als0 Capen}})
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{{Hoyt quote
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| text = <poem>Mantua me genuit; Calabri rapuere; tenet nunc
Parthenope. Cecini pascua, rura, duces.
Mantua bore me; the people of Calabria
carried me off; Parthenope (Naples) holds me
now. I have sung of pastures, of fields, of
chieftains.
Vergil's Epitaph. Said to be by himself.
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{{Hoyt quote
| num = 5
| text = Here in this place sleeps one whom love
Caused, through great cruelty to fall.
A little scholar, poor enough,
Whom Francois Villon men did call.
No scrap of land or garden small
He owned. He gave his goods away,
Table and trestles, baskets—all;
For" God's sake say for him this Lay.
Francois Villon. His own Epitaph.
He directed the stone over his grave to be
thus inscribed:
Hie jacet hujus Sententise primus Author:
Disputandi pruritus ecclesiarum scabies.
Nomen alias quaere.
Here lies the first author of this sentence;
"The itch of disputation will prove the scab of the Church." Inquire his name elsewhere.
Izaak Walton—Life of Wotton.
(See Wotton under Churches)
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{{Hoyt quote
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| text = <poem>The poet's fate is here in emblem shown,
He asked for bread, and he received a stone.
Samuel Wesley—Epigrams. On Butler's
Monument in Westminster Abbey,
Here lies, in a "horizontal" position
The "outside" case of
Peter Pendulum, watch-maker.
He departed this life "wound up"
In hopes of being "taken in hand" by bis Maker,
And of being thoroughly "cleaned, repaired"
and "set a-going"
In the world to come.
C. H. Wilson—Polyanthea. Epitaph on a
Watch-maker. Transcribed from Aberconway Churchyard.
O what a monument of glorious worth,
When in a new edition he comes forth,
Without erratas, may we think he'll be
In leaves and covers of eternity!
Benjamin Woodbridge—Lines on John Cotton. (1652)
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{{Hoyt quote
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| text = <poem>He first deceas'd; she for a little tri'd
To live without him, lik'd it not, and died.
Sir Henry Wotton—Upon the Death of Sir
Albertus Morton's Wife.
Si monumentum requiris circumspice.
If you would see his monument look around.
Inscription on the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren
in St. Paul's, London. Written by his son.
Trans, by Rogers—Italy. Florence.
EQUALITY
Men are made by nature unequal. It is vain,
therefore, to treat them as if they were equal.
Froude—Short Studies on Great Subjects.
Party Politics.
Sir, your levellers wish to level down as far as
themselves: but they cannot bear levelling up to
themselves.
| author = Samuel Johnson
| work = Boswett's Life of Johnson.
(1763)
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{{Hoyt quote
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| text = <poem>For the colonel's lady an' Judy O'Grady,
Are sisters under their skins.
Kipling—Barrack Room Ballads. Introduction.
