Author: Epitaph Page 11

Here lies John Taggart, of honest fame, of stature low, and a leg lame; content he was with portion small, kept a shop in Wigtown, and that's all.

Epitaphs

This debt I owe is justly due, and I am come to sleep with you.

Epitaphs

This is to the memory of Ellen Hill, a woman who would always have her will. She snubbed her husband but she made good bread. Yet on the whole he’s rather glad she’s dead. She whipped her children and she drank her gin, whipped virtue out and whipped the devil in. May all such women go to some great fold, where they through all eternity may scold.

Epitaphs

Here lie the remains of Thomas Woodhen. The most amiable of husbands And excellent of men. His real name was Woodcock, But it wouldn't come in rhyme.

Epitaphs

Poor Martha Snell, she's gone away. She would if she could, but she could not stay; she'd two bad legs, and a baddish cough, but her legs it was that carried her off.

Epitaphs

Here lies one who never lied before. And one who never will lie More. To which there need be no More said.

Epitaphs

My wife lies here. All my tears cannot bring her back, Therefore, I weep.

Epitaphs

I’d rather be in Boston watching the Red Sox

Epitaphs

At length a grave spots for him provided, where all through him so many of us died did.

Epitaphs

Struck by thunder.

Epitaphs

Behold! I come as a thief. – Death loves a shining mark. – In this case he had it.

Epitaphs

Here lies an Atheist. All dressed up and no place to go.

Epitaphs

She always said her feet were killing her – but nobody believed her.

Epitaphs

Due to lack of ground in this cemetery, two bodies are buried in this one plot. One of them was a politician, the other was an honest man.

Epitaphs

Here lies my wife, poor Molly, let her lie, she finds repose at last, and so do I.

Epitaphs

Rab McBeth – who died for the want of another breath.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

… With patience wait perforce to die And in a short time you'll come to I.

Epitaphs

I am not grieved, my dearest life. Sleep on, I've got another wife. Therefore, I cannot come to thee For I must go and live with she.

Epitaphs

To the Green Memory of William Hawkings, Gardener: Planted Here With Love and Care By His Grieving Colleagues

Epitaphs

Here lies Lord Coningsby – be civil, the rest God knows – so does the Devil.

Epitaphs