Author: Epitaph Page 27

The children of Israel wanted bread and the Lord sent them manna. Old clerk Wallace wanted a wife, and the Devil sent him Anna.

Epitaphs

Who lies here ? — Who do you think? 'Tis poor Will Gibson — give him a drink. Give him a drink, I'll tell you for why, when he was living, he always was dry.

Epitaphs

Curiosity did not kill this cat.

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Elizabeth Scott lies buried here, She was born Nov 20th 1785, according to the best of her recollection.

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He didn't believe in God; And when he did, they argued.

Epitaphs

DEADMAN

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He held the pall at the funeral of Shakspeare.

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Father and Mother and I choose to be buried asunder. Father and Mother here, and I buried yonder.

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Open, open wide ye golden gates that lead to the heavenly shore. Our father suffered in passing through and mother weighs much more.

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Captain Thomas Coffin, died 1842, age 50 years. He's done a-catching cod and gone to meet his God.

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To the memory of Ric Richards who by a gangrene first lost a toe, then a leg and lastly his life.

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

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Life is a jest, and all things show it; I thought so once and now I know it.

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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.

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Wherever you be, let your wind go free. For holding it in, was the killing of me.

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

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Little Johnny had a purple monkey, climbing up a yellow stick, little Johnny licked the purple paint of and it made him deathly sick. They stirred him up with calomel, they tried to move his liver, but all in vain, his little soul was wafted o'er the River.

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Here, reader, turn your weeping eyes, My fate a useful moral teaches; The hole in which my body lies Would not contain one half my speeches

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

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He had sand in his craw, But was slow on the draw, So we planted him ‘neath the daisies.

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Farewell my young companions all. From death's arrest no age is free. Remember this, a warning call. Prepare to follow after me.

Epitaphs