Author: Epitaph Page 12

This stone was raised by Frieda's Lord, not Frieda's virtues to record, for they are known to all the town. This stone was raised to keep her down.

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of John Mound, lost at sea and never found.

Epitaphs

Sleep soft in dust, wait the Almighty's will, then rise unchanged, and be an angel still.

Epitaphs

Cold is my bed, but oh, I love it, – for colder are my friends above it.

Epitaphs

I Was Supposed To Live To Be 102 and Be Shot By A Jealous Husband

Epitaphs

To the memory of Ric Richards who by a gangrene first lost a toe, then a leg and lastly his life.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

Once I wasn't – then I was. Now I ain't again.

Epitaphs

School is out. Teacher Has gone home

Epitaphs

Fhebe Sprague. – In the sixteenth year of her age, – Natively quick and spry – As all young people be, – When God commands them down to dust, – How quick they drop you see.

Epitaphs

Here lies Johnny Cole. Who died upon my soul after eating a plentiful dinner. While chewing his crust he was turned into dust with his crimes undigested – poor sinner.

Epitaphs

Here lies (the Lord have mercy on her) One of Her Majesty's maids of honour: she was young, slender, and pretty; she died a maid — the more's the pity.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

This wasn’t my idea

Epitaphs

On the 22nd of June. Jonathan Fiddle Went out of tune.

Epitaphs

Sacred to the memory of William Skaradon who came to his death by being shot with a Colts revolver, one of the old kind brass mounted and of such is the kingdom of heaven.

Epitaphs

The body that lies buried here – By lightning fell, death's sacrifice, – To him Elijah's fate was given – He rode on flames of fire to heaven.

Epitaphs

Many a heart by sorrow pressed, doth envy me my peaceful rest

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

Here Betsy Brown her body lies. Her soul is flying in the skies. While here on earth she oftimes spun six hundred skeins from sun to sun, and wove one day, her daughter brags, two hundred pounds of carpet rags.

Epitaphs

Here lies Clyde – Whose life was full – Until he tried – To milk a bull.

Epitaphs