Near where the Cam its margin laves
Is laid the Reverend Mr Graves,
Whom students reckoned at St John's
Among the decent sort of Dons.
His pupils always found him kind
And to their faults a little blind.
To learning he made small pretence
But lectured plainly and with sense.
As preacher he his help would lend
Or read the prayers to serve a friend.
Contented, and not apt to blame,
He took things mostly as they came.
He led an unassuming life
And loved his children and his wife.
He liked a pipe and modest glass,
He liked to see a pretty lass.
He did no harm, and, when he could,
Maybe he did a little good.
Of life he had a lengthy lease:
Pray heaven his soul may rest in peace.
"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Sunday, June 11, 2017
He Led an Unassuming Life
Epitaph of C.E. Graves (1839-1920), written by himself, quoted in Terrot Reaveley Glover, Cambridge Retrospect (1943; rpt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), p. 54: