Author: Epitaph Page 25

Heave a sigh For old John Doak. He didn't know His brakes were broke

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

Was suddenly killed at early dawn, July 4th, 1842, by the explosion of a small canon, aged 15 years

Epitaphs

Here I lie, snuck as a bug in a rug – Two rows down in same cemetery – Here I lie, snugger than that other bugger

Epitaphs

At rest beneath this slab of stone, lies stingy Jimmy Wyatt. He died one morning just at ten, and saved a dinner by it.

Epitaphs

Here lies poor but honest Bryan Tunstall. He was a most expert angler until Death envious of his art, threw out his line hooked him, and landed him here the 21st day of April, 1790

Epitaphs

Here lies one Wood enclosed in wood. One Wood within another. The outer wood Is very good: we cannot praise the other.

Epitaphs

Scotty… beam me up!

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

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The Lord saw good; I was lopping off wood, and down fell from the tree; I met with a check, and I broke my neck, and so Death lopped off me.

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

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Here lies Frank a shining light, whose name, life, actions all were white.

Epitaphs

Sacred To the Memory of LEWIS WICKS, who was killed on Thursday the 4, Oct. at 2 O'ck. P.M. by a waggon loaded with hay running over his brest. AD.1821 AE 56 years 3 mo. & 4 d's. who has left an affectionate Consort, and numerous friends to lament his loss.

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… Dentist Brown – Is filling his last cavity.

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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.

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In the pride of his manhood he heard the last call, – Though first in the field where his feet pressed the sod. – He hath gained his last wicket and thrown his last ball, – To join in the choir 'round the throne of his God.

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… Here lie the bones of Sophie Jones; for her death held no terrors. She was born a maid and died a maid. No hits, no runs, no heirs.

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Jonathan Tilton, whose friends reduced him to a skeleton. They robbed him out of all he had And now rejoice that he is dead.

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Here Lies Good Old Fred – A Great Big Rock Fell On His Head – R.I.P.

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HA! HA! I’m Pushing Up Daisies!!!

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My sledge and anvil lie declined, my bellows too have lost their wind; my fire’s extinct, my forge decay’d. And in the dust my body’s laid: my coal is out, my iron’s gone, my nails are drove, my work is done.

Epitaphs