Short Poems

Here stood a Lofty church — there is a steeple,
And there the Grand Parade — O see the people!
That Famouse Castle there, were I but nigh,
To see the mote and Bridg and walls so high —
They'r very fine! sais my deluded eye.

Here stands a good old apple tree,
Stand fast root, stand fast bough,
Every little twig bears an apple big,
Every little bough bears an apple now.
Hatful, capful, pocketful, lapful,
Holla, boys, holla, hip hip hurrah!

Here lieth under this marbill ston,
Riche Alane, the ballid man;
Whether he be safe or noght,
I recke never — for he ne roght!

Here lies what had not birth, nor shape, nor fame;
No gentleman! no man! no-thing! no name!
For Jammie ne'er grew James; and what they call
More, shrunk to Smith--and Smith's no name at all.
Yet die thou can'st not, Phantom, oddly fated:
For how can no-thing be annihilated?
Ex nihilo nihil fit.

Here lies the preacher, judge, and poet, Peter
Who broke the laws of God, and man and metre.

Here lies the man who stripp'd Sin bare.
And kept her lean, on hard-earn'd fare;
Who forc'd the poor at home to stay,
But rode to church on Sabbath day;
And went to heav'n, the sinless say,
Because he bother'd God with prayer,
And would not let him have his way.

Here lies the best and worst of fate,
Two kings delight, the people 's hate,
The courtier 's star, the kingdom 's eye,
A man to draw an angel by;
Fear 's despiser, Villier s' glory,
The great man's volume, all Time's story.

Here lies Sir John Plumpudding, of the Grange,
Who hung himself one morning, for a change.

Here lies my wife,
Here lies she;
Hallelujah!

Here lies Mistress Keene the Bishop of Chester,
She had a bad face, which did always molest her.