Subject: Epitaphs (Page 7)

Mary, Mary, quite contrary How does your garden grow? Quite well, I bet, Since it's well fed By her body decomposing below.

Epitaphs

Planted here beneath sod. At peaceful rest lies brother Claude

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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.

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Ma Dyed [sic]

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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.

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

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Here beneath this stone we lie, back to back my wife and I, And when the angels trump shall trill, If she gets up then I'll lie still!

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Here lies the body of Robert Gordon, mouth almighty and teeth according. Stranger tread lightly on this wonder, if he opens his mouth you are gone to thunder.

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The body of Benjamin Franklin, printer like the coyer of an old book its contents torn out and stripped of its lettering and gilding, lies here food for worms. – Yet the work itself shall not be lost for it will, as he believed, appear once more in a new and more beautiful edition corrected and amended by the author.

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That is all

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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.

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Here lies the body of Richard Hind, – Who was neither ingenious, sober, nor kind.

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Here lies Groucho Marx and Lies and Lies and Lies

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For a good time, dig.

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Here lies the body of John Smith. Buried in the cloisters. If he don't jump at the last trump, call, Oysters!

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I am anxiously expecting you. A.D. 1827 — Here I am! – A.D. 1867

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Here lies one who for medicine would not give, a little gold, and so his life he lost: I fancy now he'd wish again to live, could he but guess how much his funeral cost.

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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.

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

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Fair maiden Lilliard – lies under this stane – little was her stature – but muckle was her fame – upon the English loons – she laid monie thumps – and when her legs were cuttit off – she fought upon her stumps.

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Here lies one who never lied before. And one who never will lie More. To which there need be no More said.

Epitaphs