Author: Epitaph Page 13

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

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.

Here richly, with ridiculous display, the politician’s corpse was laid away. While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged, I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.

She always said her feet were killing her – but nobody believed her.

Here lieth Richard Dent in his last tenement.

Office upstairs.

If Heaven be pleased when sinners cease to sin, if Hell be pleased when sinners enter in, if Earth be pleased when ridded of a knave, then all are pleased for Coleman’s in his grave.

When I was in the military, they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one.

Here lies Estella – Who transported a large fortune to heaven, in acts of charity, and has gone thither to enjoy it.

I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.

Here lies a man named Zeke. Second fastest draw in Cripple Creek.

Poor Martha Snell, she's gone away. She would if she could, but she could not stay; she'd two bad legs, and a baddish cough, but her legs it was that carried her off.

She was not smart, she was not fair, but hearts with grief for her are swellin'; all empty stands her little chair: she died of eatin' water-mellon.

Here lie I, Martin Elginbrodde: Hae mercy o' my soul, Lord God; As I wad do, were I Lord God, And ye were Martin Elginbrodde.

Beneath this stone our baby lies, it neither cries nor hollers, It lived but one and twenty days, and cost us forty dollars.

The winter snow congealed his form, but now we know our Uncle’s warm.

Here lies my wife, poor Molly, let her lie, she finds repose at last, and so do I.

All you that please these lines to read, it will cause a tender heart to bleed, I murdered was up on the fell, and by the man I knew full well; by bread & butter which he'd laid, I, being harmless, was betray'd. I hope he will rewarded be, that laid the poison there for me.

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.

Here lies the body of old Uncle David, who died in the hope of being saved. Where he's gone or how he fares, nobody knows and nobody cares.

Here lies Donald and his wife Janett McPhee, aged 40 he and 30 she.