the Ward of Farringdon Within, dedicated to St. Vedast, Bishop
of Arras, in the province of Artois. The first time I find it mentioned
in history is, that Walter de London was presented thereto in 1308. The
patronage of the church was anciently in the Prior and Convent of
Canterbury, till the year 1352, when, coming to the archbishop of that
see, it has been in him and his successors ever since; and is one of the
thirteen peculiars in this city belonging to that archiepiscopal city.
This church was not entirely destroyed by the fire in 1666, but nothing
left standing but the walls; the crazy steeple continued standing till
the year 1694, when it was taken down and beautifully rebuilt at the
charge of the united parishes. To this parish that of St. Michael Quern
is united."

Among the odd monumental inscriptions in this church are the
following:--

"Lord, of thy infinite grace and Pittee
Have mercy on me Agnes, somtym the wyf
Of William Milborne, Chamberlain of this citte,
Which toke my passage fro this wretched lyf,
The year of gras one thousand fyf hundryd and fyf,
The xii. day of July; no longer was my spase,
It plesy'd then my Lord to call me to his Grase;
Now ye that are living, and see this picture,
Pray for me here, whyle ye have tyme and spase,
That God of his goodnes wold me assure,
In his everlasting mansion to have a plase.
Obiit Anno 1505."

"Here lyeth interred the body of Christopher Wase, late
citizen and goldsmith of London, aged 66 yeeres, and dyed
the 22nd September, 1605; who had to wife Anne, the
daughter of William Prettyman, and had by her three sons
and three daughters.

"Reader, stay, and thou shalt know
What he is, that here doth sleepe;
Lodged amidst the Stones below,
Stones that oft are seen to weepe.
Gentle was his Birth and Breed,
His carriage gentle, much contenting;
His word accorded with his Deed,
Sweete his nature, soone relenting.
From above he seem'd protected,
Father dead before his Birth.
An orphane only, but neglected.
Yet his Branches spread on Earth,
Earth that must his Bones containe,
Sleeping, till _Christ's_ Trumpet shall wake them,
Joyning them to Soule againe,
And to Blisse eternal take them.
It is not this rude and little Heap of Stones,
Can hold the Fame, although't