i

Epi: m. Dol: Socii Defunct: 3 Aprilis: 1560

Behold , upon the Cloister's threshold lies
Dolber: now keeper of this gate of Death,
Now justicer of Shades. Not vile he dies,
Who, dying, Good Christ, mercy on me! saith.
Pray Christ, kind hearts, that he may keep high state,
The justicer of Saints, before Heaven's gate.

ii

Epit: Wil: Adkins in Artibus Magistri et Socii istius Collegii

Will not is thine no more: the Thunderer's will
Brings thee unwilling, Will! to this last bed.
Heavy and gross thy form: not so, thy skill:
Kindly and true, many men praise thee dead.
Christ keep thee now: keep him, O Christ, pray we:
Thine be he ever! for he died in Thee.

iii

Epita. Jo. Clerke

John Clerke, Fellow and Priest, this tomb encloses;
His perishing body to this marble given.
On earth, he loved distilling sweets from roses:
Waters of Life he loves, living in Heaven.

iv

Epita. Georgii Flower in Artibus Magistri

Here sleeps George Flower: O fair and early flower!
But oh! the sooner was that flower to fade.
Poor fourteen years a Fellow he: with power,
Death's footstep called him hence; and he obeyed.

v

Epitaphium Magistri Thomae Larke, Nuper Socii istius Collegii (Ob 16 Maii, 1582)

Thomas, my Christian name, who here do lie:
My surname, of the singing lark I hold.
Twice seven months, thrice seven years, here I
Served God: whose Face I now in joy behold.

vi

Gulielmus Turner Huius Coll. Clericus. Ob. 14. Die Martii Anno Dom. 1644

Chants, fair enough, thou sangest here,
Musician! with sweet voice and clear:
Those chants, where souls in Heaven rejoice,
Perfected sings thine heavenlier voice.

vii

Siste Viator ... Hic Choragus est Tuus Stephanus Cooke LL Baccalaureus ... Et huius Collegii Socius ... Obiit Novembris Xii anno Salutis MDCLXVI Aetatis XXXIV

O wayfarer! prithee, stay:
Thou, who treadest Death's hard way:
Art thou of the Spartan band?
Here lies he, might thee command.
Stephen Cooke lies here: who lay,
Dying, all youth's little day!
Not so long doth Death engage
Those, who die in ripe old age.
Get thee home, to Heaven! go by:
Thou hast learned the way to die.

viii

Tho. Welsted

Thomas Welsted lieth here,
Stricken at his eighteenth year.
Low Death laid him, with a stone;
Now then, not to Oxford gone,
He hath entered Heaven instead.
First he was at School: now dead,
And to many mansions passed,
His place cannot be the last.