Author: Epitaph Page 14

Here lies the body of Jonathan Blake. Stepped on the gas instead of the brake.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

A bird, a man, a loaded gun. No bird, dead man, thy will be done.

Epitaphs

Here lies Frank a shining light, whose name, life, actions all were white.

Epitaphs

He held the pall at the funeral of Shakspeare.

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Charlie was a chemist, but Charlie is no more. What Charlie thought was H20 was H2SO4.

Epitaphs

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

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He called Bill Smith a liar

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Here lies my wife in earthy mould, who when she lived did naught but scold. Peace! wake her not, for now she’s still; she had, but now I have my will.

Epitaphs

36-33-01-24-17 – Honey you don't know what you did for me, – Always playing the lottery. – The numbers you picked came in to play, – Two days after you passed away. – For this, a huge monument I do erect, – For now I get a yearly check. – How I wish you were alive, – For now we are worth 8.5

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Tears cannot restore her –– therefore I weep.

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

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A peerless matron, pride of female life In every state, as widow, maid, or wife; who wedded, to threescore preserved her fame. She lived a phoenix, and expired in flame.

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Under this yew tree, buried would he be, because his father – he planted this yew tree.

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

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Go away – I’m asleep.

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To the Memory of Clement Gillman (1882-1946) who led a commonsense and therefore happy life because he stubbornly refused to be bamboozled by his female relations, by his scientific friends and by the rulers spiritual and secular of the society into which without his consent he was born.

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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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Here lies the man Richard, and Mary his wife, whose surname was Prichard. They lived without strife, and the reason was plain. They abounded in riches, they had no care nor pain, and his wife wore the britches.

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Here lies Donnie Cornwell, good and dead. In an extra large coffin to fit his extra large head.

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Here lies Bob Master. Faith! t’was very hard to take away an honest Robin’s breath. Yes, surely Robin was full well prepared, for he was always looking out for death.

Epitaphs