The new rector, Warehorne

You came to Warehorne to give them hope

Their swampy lives were short and harsh

They lived in fear of gibbet and rope

The lawless tribes of Romney Marsh.

They smiled as you offered them the host –

The new rector at St Matthew’s.

Already, they could see your ghost

It was not men, but the ague that killed you

The marshes claimed you; you won’t go back

A yellow chill made you fall asleep.

Now, in the burial ground by The Woolpack

Your grave is nibbled by the Romney sheep.

Like the others, you were corruptible

A lonely bell tolls for your funeral.

THIS PARISH lies upon the clay-hills, near the western boundaries of them, an unhealthy, as well as unpleasant situation, partaking of the gross atmosphere of the Marsh, and the soil of it in general a deep miry clay. The village is built round a large green, called the Lecon, or more properly, the Lecton, on which is a handsome house, the property of Mr. Thomas Hodges, who lives in it, as his ancestors have for some generations past.

History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent, Volume 8, Edward Hasted