Mayfield
Oh reader! if that thou can’st read
Look down upon this stone;
Do all we can, Death is a man,
What never spareth none.
Storrington
Here lies the body of Edward Hide,
We laid him here because he died,
We had rather
It been his father,
If it had been his sister
We should not have missed her,
But since ’tis honest Ned,
No more shall be said.
Here lies my poor wife, without bed or blanket,
But dead as a door nail, God be thanked.