Subject: Epitaphs (Page 24)

Since all that's mortal turns to dust, Reader! be humble and be just; 'Twill ease thy mind of anxious care, and sooth thy passage — God knows where!

Epitaphs

His faults are buried with him beneath this stone. His virtues (if he had any) are remembered by his friends.

Epitaphs

Hold my drink, you're gonna' love this.

Epitaphs

Office upstairs.

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Jonathan Stout. He fell in the water and never got out, And still is supposed to be floating about.

Epitaphs

Where did everybody go?

Epitaphs

He heard the angels calling him, from the celestial shore. He flopped his wings and away he flew, to make one angel more.

Epitaphs

Beneath this stone, in hopes of Zion, doth lie the landlord of the lion; his son keeps on the business still, resigned unto the heavenly will.

Epitaphs

See, I told you I was SICK!

Epitaphs

Here lies Ezekiel Aikle Age 102 – The Good Die Young.

Epitaphs

My father and mother were both insane. I inherited the terrible stain. My grandfather, grandmother, Aunts and uncles Were lunatics all And yet died of carbuncles

Epitaphs

Beneath this silent tomb is laid, a noisy antiquated maid, who from her cradle talked till death, and ne'er before was out of breath.

Epitaphs

Grim Death To Please His Palate Has Taken My Lettice To Put in His Sallat.

Epitaphs

I am woman here me roar. And boy did she.

Epitaphs

Here lieth, underneath these stones, The Beard, the Flesh, and eke the Bones Of Wrexham's Clerk, old Daniel Jones.

Epitaphs

Thorp’s Corpse

Epitaphs

Here lie I, Martin Elginbrodde: Hae mercy o' my soul, Lord God; As I wad do, were I Lord God, And ye were Martin Elginbrodde.

Epitaphs

Dear God: enclosed, please find Rube Goldberg. Now that you’ve got him, what are you going to do with him?

Epitaphs

Under this stone Lies Billy Joe Bob Stealing chickens Was his last job

Epitaphs

I will NOT be right back after this message.

Epitaphs

Here into the dust, the mouldering crust, of Eleanour Bachelour's shoven; well versed in the arts of pies, custards, and tarts. And the lucrative skill of the oven. When she lived long enough, she made her last puff, a puff by her husband much praised, now here she doth lie and makes a dirt pie, in hopes that her crust shall be raised.

Epitaphs