Epitaph on John Hughes and Sarah Drew

HERE lie John Hughes and Sarah Drew.

Perhaps you’ll say, “What’s that to you?”

Believe me, friend, much may be said

On that poor couple that are dead.

On Sunday next they should have married;

But see how oddly things have carried!

On Thursday last it rained and lightened;

These tender lovers, sadly frightened,

Sheltered beneath the cocking hay,

In hope to pass the time away.

But the bold thunder found them out

(Commissioned for that end, no doubt),

And, seizing on their trembling breath,

Consigned them to the shades of death.

Who knows if ’twas not kindly done?

For, had they seen the next year’s sun,

A beaten wife and cuckold swain

Had jointly cursed the marriage chain.

Now they are happy in their doom,

For Pope has wrote upon their tomb.