The latter Part of his Life was spent, as all Men of good Sense will
wish theirs may be, in Ease, Retirement, and the Conversation of his
Friends. He had the good Fortune to gather an Estate equal to his
Occasion, and, in that, to his Wish; and is said to have spent some
Years before his Death at his native _Stratford_. His pleasurable Wit,
and good Nature, engag'd him in the Acquaintance, and entitled him to
the Friendship of the Gentlemen of the Neighbourhood. Amongst them, it
is a Story almost still remember'd in that Country, that he had a
particular Intimacy with Mr. _Combe_, an old Gentleman noted thereabouts
for his Wealth and Usury: It happen'd, that in a pleasant Conversation
amongst their common Friends, Mr. _Combe_ told _Shakespear_ in a
laughing manner, that he fancy'd, he intended to write his Epitaph, if
he happen'd to out-live him; and since he could not know what might be
said of him when he was dead, he desir'd it might be done immediately:
Upon which _Shakespear_ gave him these four Verses.
_Ten in the Hundred lies here ingrav'd,
'Tis a Hundred to Ten, his Soul is not sav'd:
If any Man ask, Who lies in this Tomb?
Oh! ho! quoth the Devil, 'tis my_ John-a-Combe.
But the Sharpness of the Satyr is said to have stung the Man so
severely, that he never forgave it.
He Dy'd in the 53d Year of his Age, and was bury'd on the North side of
the Chancel, in the Great Church at _Stratford_, where a Monument, as
engrav'd in the Plate, is plac'd in the Wall.
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