The interior is spacious, and the architecture and embellishments
superior to those of most country churches. There are several
ancient monuments of nobility and gentry, over some of which hang
funeral escutcheons, and banners dropping piecemeal from the walls.
The tomb of Shakspeare is in the chancel. The place is solemn and
sepulchral. Tall elms wave before the pointed windows, and the Avon,
which runs at a short distance from the walls, keeps up a low
perpetual murmur. A flat stone marks the spot where the bard is
buried. There are four lines inscribed on it, said to have been
written by himself, and which have in them something extremely
awful. If they are indeed his own, they show that solicitude about the
quiet of the grave, which seems natural to fine sensibilities and
thoughtful minds.
Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare
To dig the dust enclosed here.
Blessed be he that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones.
Just over the grave, in a niche of the wall, is a bust of
Shakspeare, put up shortly after his death, and considered as a
resemblance. The aspect is pleasant and serene, with a finely-arched
forehead; and I thought I could read in it clear indications of that
cheerful, social disposition, by which he was as much characterized
among his contemporaries as by the vastness of his genius.
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