Cirencester
Our bodies are like shoes, which off we cast,—
Physic their coblers, and Death their last.
Mercye, God of my misdede;
Ladye, help at my most neede;
On a brass plate under theyre feete,
Reye gracious I ha to Endles lyfe at thy grete
dome, where alle Schalle apere, Hughe Norys Groe, and
Johan, hys wyf, now dede in Grave and Buryed here;
Yo P’yers desyringe therre soules for chere, the x
day of July, the yere of oure Lorde God, mdcccccxxix.
This epitaph appears on a flat stone, with the effigies of a man and woman.
On Two Infants.
Two lovelier babes ye nare did se
Than God A’mighty gaed to we,
Bus the was o’ertaken we agur (ague) fits,
And hare tha lies as dead as nits!