Author: Epitaph Page 24

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.

Bye

Peace to his hashes.

This world is a prison in every respect, whose walls are the heavens in common; the jailor is sin, and the prisoners men; and the fetters are nothing but women.

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.

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

Buried here beneath this clay lies gardener John Arbothnaut Jay. Now in his simpeternal home, a constant source of high-grade loam.

How sleep the brave who sink to rest, by all their country's wishes blest, they sleep not in their regimentals. Such things being here not deemed essentials.

A Finished Artist

To follow you I am not content, How do I know Which way you went.

Factory Reject

HA! HA! I’m Pushing Up Daisies!!!

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.

… But the reason why I am here interred according to my thinking, – Is owing to my good living and hard drinking, – If therefore, good Christians, you wish to live long – Don't drink to much wine, brandy, gin, or any thing strong.

Grim death took me without any warning, I was well one day, and stone dead next morning.

Sacred to the remains of Jonathan Thompson. A pious Christian and affectionate husband. His disconsolate widow continues to carry on his grocery business At the old stand on Main Street: Cheapest and best prices in town.

Elizabeth McFadden, wife of David P. Read. Died Feb. 28, 1859, in her 47th year. She never done a thing to displeas her husband.

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

Here Delia's buried at fourscore; When young, a lewd rapacious Whore, Vain and expensive; but when old, A pious, sordid, drunken Scold.

The dust of Melantha Gribbling, swept up at last by the Great Housekeeper

For a good time, dig.