|1||1||1||POET||Ten in the hundred here lies engraved;|
A hundred to ten his soul is not saved.
If anyone asks who lies in this tomb,
"O ho", quoth the devil, "'tis my John Combe".
|2||2||2||POET||Howe'er he lived judge not|
John Combe shall never be forgot
While poor hath memory, for he did gather,
To make the poor his issue; he, their father,
As record of his tilth and seed
Did crown him in his latter deed.