he following lines, engraved in _black letter_:--

"Behold what droupinge Dethe maye doe, consume
y'e corse to duste,
What Dethe maie not shall lyue for aye, in spite of
Dethe his luste;
Thoughe Rouland Monoux shrowdeth here, yet
Rouland Monoux lives,
His helpynge hand to nedys want, a fame for ever
geves;
Hys worde and dede was ever one, his credyth never
quaylde,
His zeall' to Christ was stronge, tyll' dethe w'th latest
panges asaylde.
Twyse thre and one he Children had, two sones, one
kepes his name,
And dowghters fyve for home he carde, y't lyve in
honest fame.
What booteth more, as he be kynde dyd come of
Jentyll race,
So Rouland Monoux good Desertes this grave can
not Deface."

I should be obliged to any of your readers for some account of this
Rouland Monoux, and when he died. I may also add; that I should be very
willing to restore the brass to its original site, did I know the spot
from whence it has been sacrilegiously torn.

M.

_Wessel Cup Hymn._--The following Wassail Song is taken from a little
chap-book printed at Manchester, called _A Selection of Christmas
Hymns_. it is obviously a corrupted version of a much older song:--

"Here we come a wesseling,
Among the leaves so green,
Here we come a wandering,
So fair to be seen.

"_Cho._--Love and joy come to you,
And to your wessel too,
And God send you a happy new year,
A new year,
And God send you a happy new year.

"Our wessel cup is made of the rosemary tree,
So is your beer of the best barley.

"We are not daily beggars,
That beg from door to door,
But we are neighbours' children,
Whom you have seen before.

"Call up the butler of this house,
Put on his golden ring,
Let him bring us up a glass of beer,
And the better we shall sing.

"We have got a little purse,
Made of stretching leather skin,
We want a little of your money,
To line it well within.

"Bring us out a table,
And spread it with a cloth,
Bring us out a mouldy cheese,
And some of your Christmas loaf.

"God bless the master of this house,
Likewise the mistress too,
And all the little children,
That round the table go.

"Good master and mistress,
While you'r sitting by the fire,
Pray think of us poor children,
Who are wand'ring in the mire.

"_Ch