Subject: Epitaphs (Page 21)

Sacred to the memory of Henry Harris who died from a kick by a colt in his bowells. Peacable and quiet, a friend to his father and mother, respected by all who knew him, gone to the world where horses don’t kick, where sorrow and weeping are no more.

Epitaphs

Weep not for me mother & brothers dear, It is God's wish that I am here. At my sweet age I swallowed a bone That sent me to a happy home.

Epitaphs

I'm in on a plot.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

Curly – Joe DeRita, “The Last Stooge” July 12, 1909 – July 3, 1993

Epitaphs

Poor Betty Conway, she drank lemonade at a masquerade, So now she's dead and gone away.

Epitaphs

Here lies, cut down like unripe fruit, The wife of Deacon Amos Shute. She died of drinking too much coffee, Anno Dominy eighteen forty

Epitaphs

Here lies Thomas Smith and what is somewhat rareish, he was born bred and hanged in this e’er parish.

Epitaphs

Gone, but not forgiven

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Miriam Wood, formerly wife to John Smith. A woman well beloved of all her neighbors for her care of small folks' education, their number being great, that when she died she scarcely left her mate: so wise discreet was her behaviours that she was well esteemed by neighbors. She lived in love with all to die so let her rest to eternitye.

Epitaphs

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

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Beneath this grassy Mound now rests One Edgar Oscar Earl, Who to another Hunter looked Exactly like a squirrel.

Epitaphs

They were two living sisters, who in this dust do lie. The very day Annie was buried Elizabeth did die.

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I’m A Writer But Then Nobody’s Perfect

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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 lieth the body of my lovely dear wife Anne, who plays the poker machines whenever she can.

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… Going! Going!! Gone!!!

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I Dionysius underneath this tomb – Some sixty years of age have reached my doom. – Ne'er having married, think it sad, – And I wish my father never had.

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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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Beneath this stone now dead to grief Lies Grid the famous Wokag chief. Pause here and think you learned prig, This man was once an Indian big. Consider this, ye lowly one, this man was once a big in-jun. Now he lies here, you too must rot, as sure as pig shall go to pot.

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