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Now ye that live upon earth, both young and old,
Think how ye shall to earth, be ye never so bold;
Yo be unsiker, whether it be in heat or cold,
Like as your brethren did before, as I have told.

Now ye folks that be here ye may not long endure,
But that ye shall turn to earth I do you ensure;
And if ye list of the truth to see a plain figure,
Go to St. Paul's and see the portraiture.

All is earth and shall to earth as it sheweth there,
Therefore ere dreadful death with his dart you dare,
And for to turn into earth no man shall it forbear,
Wisely purvey you before, and thereof have no fear.

Now sith by death we shall all pass, it is to us certain,
For of earth we come all, and to the earth shall turn again;
Therefore to strive or grudge it were but vain,

For all is earth and shall be earth,-nothing more certain.

Now earth upon earth consider thou may
How earth cometh to earth naked alway,

Why should earth upon earth go stout alway,

Since earth out of earth shall pass in poor array?

I counsel you upon earth that wickedly have wrought,
That earth out of earth to bliss may be brought.

BYRON'S INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF HIS DOG

Near this spot

Are deposited the remains of one
Who possessed beauty without vanity,

Strength without insolence,

Courage without ferocity,

And all the virtues of man without his vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,

Is but a just tribute to the memory of
Boatswain, a dog,

Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.

Inscriptions.

TAVERN-SIGNS.

I'm amazed at the signs

As I pass through the town,
To see the odd mixture,-

A magpye and crown,
The whale and the crow,
The razor and hen,
The leg and seven stars,
The axe and the bottle,
The tun and the lute,
The eagle and child,

The shovel and boot.—British Apollo, 1710.

THE absurdities which tavern-signs present are often curious enough, but may in general be traced to that inveterate propensity which the vulgar of all countries have, to make havoc with every thing in the shape of a proper name. What a magpie could have to do with a crown, or a whale with a crow, or a hen with a razor, it is as difficult to conjecture as to trace the corruption of language in which the connection more probably originated. The sign of the leg and the seven stars was merely an orthographical deviation from the league and seven stars, or seven united provinces; and the axe and bottle was, doubtless, a transposition of the battle-axe, a most appropriate sign for warlike times. The tun and lute formed suitable emblems enough of the pleasures of wine and music. The eagle and child, too, had meaning, though no application; but when we come to the shovel and boot, nonsense again triumphs, and it is in vain that we look for any rational explanation of the affinity.

The Swan-with-two-necks has long been an object of mystery to the curious. This mystery is solved by the alteration of a single letter. The sign, as it originally stood, was the swan with two nicks; the meaning of which we find thus explained in a communication made by the late Sir Joseph Banks to the

Antiquarian Society. Sir Joseph presented to the Society a curious parchment roll, exhibiting the marks, or nicks, made on the beaks of swans and cygnets in all the rivers and lakes in Lincolnshire, accompanied with an account of the privileges of certain persons keeping swans in these waters, and the duties of the king's swanherd in guarding these fowls from depredation and preventing any two persons from adopting the same figures or marks on the bills of their swans. The number of marks contained in the parchment roll amounted to two hundred and nineteen, all of which were different and confined to the small extent of the bill of the swan. The outlines were an oblong square, circular at one end, and containing dots, notches, arrows, or such like figures, to constitute the difference in each man's swans. Laws were enacted so late as the 12th of Elizabeth, for the preservation of the swans in Lincolnshire.

The goat and compasses has been supposed to have its origin in the resemblance between the bounding of a goat and the expansion of a pair of compasses; but nothing can be more fanciful. The sign is of the days of the Commonwealth, when it was fashionable to give scriptural names to every thing and everybody, and when God-be-praised Barebones preferred drinking his tankard of ale at the God-encompasseth-us to anywhere else. The corruption from God-encompasseth-us to goat and compasses is obvious and natural enough.

In Richard Flecknoe's Enigmatical Characters, published 1665, speaking of the "fanatic reformers," (the Puritans,) he observes, "As for the SIGNS, they have pretty well begun their reformation already, changing the sign of the salutation of the angel and our lady into the soldier and citizen, and the Kathe rine Wheel into the cat and wheel; so as there only wants then making the dragon to kill St. George, and the devil to tweak St. Dunstan by the nose, to make the reformation complete. Such ridiculous work they make of their reformation, and so zealous are they against all mirth and jollity, as they would pluck down the sign of the cat and fiddle too, if it durst but play s loud as they might hear it."

The cat and fiddle is a a corruption of Caton fidele. The bag of nails, at Chelsea, is claimed by the smiths. and carpenters of the neighborhood as a house designed for their peculiar accommodation; but, had it not been for the corruption of the times, it would still have belonged to the bacchanals, who, in the time of Ben Jonson, used to take a holiday stroll to this delightful village. But the old inscription satyr and bacchanals is now converted into Satan and bag o'nails.

The origin of the chequers, which is so common an emblem of public houses, has been the subject of much learned conjecture. One writer supposes that they were meant to represent that the game of draughts might be played there; another has been credibly informed that in the reign of Philip and Mary the then Earl of Arundel had a grant to license public-houses, and, part of the armorial bearings of that noble family being a chequer-board, the publican, to show that he had a license, put out that mark as part of his sign. But, unfortunately for both solutions, unfortunately for the honors of Arundel, Sir W. Hamilton presented, some time ago, to the Society of Antiquaries, a view of a street in Pompeii, in which we find that shops with the sign of the chequers were common among the Romans! The real origin of this emblem is still involved in obscurity. The wittiest, though certainly not the most genuine, explanation of it was that of the late George Selwyn, who used to wonder that antiquaries should be at any loss to discover why draughts were an appropriate emblem for drinkinghouses.

An annotator on Beloe's Anecdotes of Literature says, "I remember, many years ago, passing through a court in Rosemary Lane, where I observed an ancient sign over the door of an ale-house, which was called The Four Alls. There was the figure of a king, and on a label, 'I rule all;' the figure of a priest, motto, I pray for all;' a soldier, I fight for all;' and a yeoman, 'I pay all.' About two years ago I passed through the same thoroughfare, and, looking up for my curious

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sign, I was amazed to see a painted board occupy its place, with these words inscribed:- The Four Awls.' In Whitechapel Road is a public house which has a written sign, The Grave Morris.' A painter was commissioned to embody the inscription; but this painter had not a poet's eye; he could not body forth the form of things unknown. In his distress he applied to a friend, who presently relieved him, and the painter delineated, as well as he could, The Graafe Maurice,' often mentioned in the Epistola Hoelinæ.'"

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The Queer Door is corrupted from Coeur Doré (Golden Heart); the Pig and Whistle, from Peg and Wassail-Bowl; the Goat in the Golden Boots, from the Dutch Goed in der Gooden Boote (the god-Mercury-in the golden boots).

Many signs are heraldic and represent armorial bearings. The White Heart was peculiar to Richard II.; the White Swan to Henry IV. and Edward III.; the Blue Boar to Richard III.; the Red Dragon to the Tudors; the Bull, the Falcon, and the Plume of Feathers to Edward IV.; the Swan and Antelope to Henry V.; the Greyhound and Green Dragon to Henry VII.; the Castle, the Spread Eagle, and the Globe were probably adopted from the arms of Spain, Germany, and Portugal, by inns which were the resort of merchants from those countries. Many commemorate historical events; others derive their names from some eminent and popular man. The Coach and Horses indicated post-houses; the Fox and Goose denoted the games played within; the Hare and Hounds, the vicinity of hunting-grounds. In the Middle Ages, a bush was always suspended in front of the door of a wine-shop, -whence the saying, "Good wine needs no bush." Some of the medieval signs are still retained, as the Pilgrim, CrossKeys, Seven Stars, &c.

The following is a literal copy of the sign of a small public house in the village of Folkesworth, near Stilton, Hants. It contains as much poetry as perhaps the rustic Folkesworth folks are worth; and doubtless they think it (in the Stilton vernacu lar) "quite the cheese."

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