Subject: Epitaphs (Page 19)

G. Winch, the brewer, lies buried here. In life he was both hale and stout. Death brought him to his bitter bier. Now in heaven he hops about.

Epitaphs

Here I lie at the chancel door – And I lie here because I am poor; – For the farther in the more you pay, – But here I lie as warm as they.

Epitaphs

His faults are buried with him beneath this stone. His virtues (if he had any) are remembered by his friends.

Epitaphs

I’m A Writer But Then Nobody’s Perfect

Epitaphs

Our Little Charlie – He dropped into our world to taste life’s bitter cup, but turned his little head aside, disgusted with the taste and died.

Epitaphs

Neal Keven – His accounts were found square to a cent.

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

Here lies Ned. There is nothing more to be said, because we like to speak well of the dead. I came into this world without my consent, and left in the same manner.

Epitaphs

To the Memory of Clement Gillman (1882-1946) who led a commonsense and therefore happy life because he stubbornly refused to be bamboozled by his female relations, by his scientific friends and by the rulers spiritual and secular of the society into which without his consent he was born.

Epitaphs

Getting there is half the fun!

Epitaphs

These hillocks green and mouldering bones, these gloomy tombs and lettered stones. One admonition here supply: Reader! art thou prepared to die?

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 Andrew – The quality of his armor was not assured

Epitaphs

They finally took Our good friend Scott, When a lightning bolt could not

Epitaphs

Jack Lemmon In…

Epitaphs

Here lies Sissie Chang – Fumbled a grenade, went out with a bang

Epitaphs

Sweet Leota Beloved by All In Regions Beyond Now But Having a Ball

Epitaphs

Here lies Bryan Wilkinson – The doc said he'd be 'alright,’ Guess doc was all wrong

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Richard Thomas, an Englishman by birth, a Whig of '76 – a Cooper by trade, now food for worms. Like an old rum puncheon whose staves are all marked and numbered he will be raised and put together again by his Maker.

Epitaphs

Some have children, others none, Here lies the mother of twenty one.

Epitaphs