Subject: Epitaphs


Humorous, wry or ironic inscriptions from tombs or graves (or a brief statement commemorating or epitomizing) the memory of a deceased person.

Here lies the body of Thomas Kemp, Who lived by wool and died by hemp

Old Vicar Sutor lieth here, Who had a Mouth from ear to ear. Reader tread lightly on the sod. For if he gapes, you're gone by G —.

Here lies the body of Samuel Crane – He ran a race with a passenger train. He got to the crossing and almost across. Sam and his car was a total loss. Sams spirit now tolls his knell. That Sam is on his way to well – If he only took time to stop look and listen, He'd be living now instead of missing

Beneath this smooth stone by the bone of his bone – Sleeps Master John Gill; – By lies when alive this attorney did thrive, – And now that he's dead he lies still.

Here lies the body of Elred. At least he will be when he is dead. But now at this time he's still alive, 14th August '65.

Here doth lye the bodie – Of John Flye, who did die – By a stroke from a sky-rocket – Which hit him on the eye-socket.

This spot is the sweetest I've seen in my life, For it raises many flowers and covers my wife.

Here lies one John Witherbee, – A Boston gallant chap was he. – God had no use for such as he, – The devil rejected Witherbee.

Born of woman, killed by lead. I most likely had your wife in bed.

They abounded in riches but she wore the britches

A Finished Artist

There once was a man named Don, who fell asleep out on his lawn. They thought he was pretending to be dead, then a tombstone fell on his head. And now Don is long gone.

He got a fish bone in his throat – And then he sang an angel's note.

He held the pall at the funeral of Shakspeare.

Against his will, here lies George Hill, who from a cliff – fell down quite stiff. When it happened is not known, therefore not mentioned on this stone.

Sacred to the memory of Anthony Drake, who died for peace and quietness sake; his wife was constantly scolding and scoffin; so he sought for repose in a twelve-dollar coffin.

A man of letters it seems was he; the college made him L.L.D. The Order a P.G.W.C. Grim death has given him the G.B., and may his ashes R.I.P.

I Dionysius underneath this tomb – Some sixty years of age have reached my doom. – Ne'er having married, think it sad, – And I wish my father never had.

Tears cannot restore her –– therefore I weep.

Smart Humorous, Irreverent Tormented – Justin Arthur Frank, M.D. March 22, 1908 – January 20, 1986

Here lies a man that was Knott born, His father was Knott before him, He lived Knott, and did Knott die, Yet underneath this stone doth lie.

The Animal Rescue Site

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