Subject: Epitaphs (Page 6)

To the Memory of Abraham Beaulieu. Born 15 September 1822. Accidentally shot 4th April 1844. As a mark of affection from his brother

Epitaphs

Cast a cold eye on life, on death. Horseman, pass by!

Epitaphs

Approach and read, now with your hats on, for here lies Bailie William Watson; who was famous for his thinking, and moderation in his drinking.

Epitaphs

I've finally gotten to the bottom of things.

(1900 – 1978) American actress & novelist
Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

Upon the fifth day of November, Christ's College lost a privy member; Cupid and death did both their arrows nick, Cupid shot short, but death did hit the prick; Women lament and maidens make great moans, Because the prick is laid beneath the stones.

Epitaphs

I came I know not whence, I go I know not whither.

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Jane Gordon. With mouth almighty and teeth accordin!

Epitaphs

One Errant Female Has Fun – The Ornament of Her Generation – Beautiful. Witty. Brilliant. Talented. Elegant. Charming. Frugal and Modest. – Erected By Herself

Epitaphs

I've finally stopped getting dumber.

Epitaphs

Here lies old Caleb Ham, by trade a bum. When de died the devil cried, Come, Caleb, come.

Epitaphs

Here lies poor Ned Pardon, from misery freed, Who long was a bookseller's hack; He led such a damnable life in this world, I don't think he'll ever come back.

Epitaphs

Sacred to the memory of Miss Martha Grimm. She was so very spare within, she burst the outward shell of sin and hatched herself a cherubim.

Epitaphs

Listen, Mother, Aunt and me, were killed, here we be. We should not had time to missle had they blown the engine whistle.

Epitaphs

Here lies old Jones, who all his life collected bones, till death, that grim and bony spectre, that all-amassing bone collector, boned old Jones, so neat and tidy, that here he lies all bona fide.

Epitaphs

Here lies the worst king and the most miserable man in the kingdom.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

'Gone fishing', the sign said that hung upon the door. An Angel had put it there, God Was waiting on the shore.

Epitaphs

Reader pass on and ne'er waste your time, On bad biography and bitter rhyme. For what I am this cumb'rous clay insures, And what I was, is no affair of yours.

Epitaphs

This is all that remains of poor Ben Hough. He had forty-nine years and that was enough. Of worldly goods he had his share, And now he's gone to the Devil's snare.

Epitaphs

Our life is but a summer's day: Some only breakfast, and away; Others to dinner stay, and are full fed; The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed. Large his account who lingers out the day; Who goes the soonest, has the least to pay.

Epitaphs