Hendon
Poor Ralph lies beneath this roof, and sure he must be blest,
For though he could do nothing, he meant to do the best,
Think of your soules, ye guilty throng,
Who, knowing what is right, do wrong.
On Mr. Sand.
Who would live by others’ breath?
Fame deceives the dead man’s trust.
Even our names much change by death,
Sand I was, but now am Dust.
On Robert Thomas Crosfield, M.D. 1802, written by himself.
Beneath this stone Tom Crosfield lies,
Who cares not now who laughs or cries;
He laughed when sober, and, when mellow,
Was a harum scarum heedless fellow;
He gave to none design’d offence;
So “Honi soit qui mal y pense!”