Author: Epitaph Page 8

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

An excellent husband was this Mr. Danner, – He lived in a thoroughly honorable manner. – He may have had troubles. – But they burst like bubbles. – He's at peace, now with Mary, Jane Susan and Hannah.

Epitaphs

He never won immortal fame, nor conquered earthly ills, but men weep for him all the same, he always paid his bills.

Epitaphs

Reader, I've left this world, in which I had a world to do; sweating and fretting to get rich: just such a fool as you.

Epitaphs

Bill Blake – was hanged by mistake.

Epitaphs

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

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Here lies John Higley whose father and mother were drowned in their passage from America. Had they both lived they would have been buried here.

Epitaphs

John Rose, Died Jan. 27. 1810, aged 10 years. Dr Friends and companions all, pray warning take by me, don't venture on the ice too far, as `twas the death of me.

Epitaphs

 Here lies the body of Dr Hayward, a man who never voted. Of such is the kingdom of Heaven.

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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.

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I was not, I am not, I grieve not

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

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

Here lies the body of Jonathan Blake. Stepped on the gas instead of the brake.

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A victim of fast women and slow horses.

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

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Here lies the body of Jonathan Near Whose mouth it stretched from ear to ear. Tread softly, stranger, o'er this wonder, For if he yawns, you're gone, by thunder.

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John Edwards who perished in a fire. None could hold a candle to him.

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Here lies my wife a sad slatterned shrew. If I said I regretted her, I should lie too.

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“Deeply regretted by all who never knew him.”

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

Epitaphs