Southworth
The world is full of crooked streets,
Death is a place where all men meets,
If life were sold, that men might buy,
The rich would live, the poor must die.
Oldham
On Paul Fuller and Peter Potter, buried near each
other.
’Tis held by Peter and by Paul,
That when we fill our graves or urns,
Ashes to ashes crumbling fall,
And dust to dust once more returns.
So here a truth unmeant for mirth,
Appears in monumental lay;
Paul’s grave is filled with Fuller’s earth,
And Peter’s crammed with Potter’s clay.