Author: Epitaph Page 10

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 doth lye the bodie – Of John Flye, who did die – By a stroke from a sky-rocket – Which hit him on the eye-socket.

Epitaphs

Charity, wife of Gideon Bligh, underneath this stone doth lie. Nought was she e'er known to do, that her husband told her to.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Johnny Haskell, A lying, thieving, cheating rascal; He always lied, and now he lies, He has no soul and cannot rise.

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Dear God: enclosed, please find Rube Goldberg. Now that you’ve got him, what are you going to do with him?

Epitaphs

“I See Dumb People”

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Rest In Peace Cousin Huet – We all know you didn't do it

Epitaphs

Never born, Never died: visited the planet earth between December 11, 1931 and, January 19, 1990.

Epitaphs

Beneath this stone a lump of clay, lies Uncle Peter Dan'els – who early in the month of May, took off his winter flannels.

Epitaphs

Here lies my wife, here lies she; Hallelujah! Hallelujee!

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See how God works his wonders now and then, here lies a lawyer, and an honest man.

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The dust of Melantha Gribbling, swept up at last by the Great Housekeeper

Epitaphs

"May ye be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead"

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Here beneath this pile of stones – Lies all thats left of Sally Jones. – Her name was Lord, it was not Jones, – But Jones was used to rhyme with stones.

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The devil slipped in like a weasil – And down to Hell he took old Kezle.

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Good friends for Jesus' sake forbear – To stir the dust enclosed here. – Blest be the man who spares these stones – And cursed be he who moves my bones.

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Here lies James Dunn – he raced for the crossing but the train won

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

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Here lies a man who all his mortal life, spent mending clocks, but could not mend his wife. The larum of his bell was ne’er so shrill as was her tongue, aye, clacking like a mill. But now he’s gone – oh whither none can tell, but hope beyond the sound of Matty’s bell.

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Jane Gordon. With mouth almighty and teeth accordin!

Epitaphs