Jeremy Frost

Here lies one, old Jeremy Frost. Whose soul was saved though his legs was lost. A man he was, if any be found, Taut as a spar from his head to the ground. But the Lord takes pleasure in no man's shape, And He shorted 'm up wi' a round o' grape. But Jeremy wouldn't be dowsed nor glum When the wars was over and he come. "Not lost," says Jeremy, "gone afore, And awaiting for me on a better shore." So when Death loosened his timber pegs, Old Jeremy up'd and follered his legs.