Author: Epitaph Page 15

Stranger pause my tale attend, and learn the cause of Hannah’s end. Across the world the wind did blow, she ketched a cold that laid her low. We shed a lot of tears ‘tis true, but life is short – aged 82.

Epitaphs

Due to lack of ground in this cemetery, two bodies are buried in this one plot. One of them was a politician, the other was an honest man.

Epitaphs

He Never Killed a Man That Did Not Need Killing

Epitaphs

Those who cared for him while living, will know whose body is buried here, to others it does not matter.

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

Epitaphs

In memory of Richard Fothergill, who met vierlent death near this spot 18 hundred and 40 too. He was shot by his own pistill. It was not one of the new kind; but an old fashioned brass barrell. Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.

Epitaphs

WILLIAM WILSON – Here Lieth W.W., who never more will, trouble you, trouble you.

Epitaphs

Ellen Shannon age 26 years, Who was fatally burned March 21, 1870 by the explosion of a lamp filled with "R. E. Danforth's Non-Explosive-Burning Fluid."

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I don't know how to die.

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A traveller lies here at rest, who life's rough ocean tossed on. His many virtues all expressed, thus simply – “I'm from Boston.”

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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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Martha and I together lived – Just two years and a half; – She went first, and I followed after – the cow before the calf.

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Robert Lowe. Whither he’s gone I do not know. If to the realms of peace and love, farewell to happiness above. If to a place of lower level, I don’t congratulate the d—l.

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She drank good ale, good punch and wine and lived to the age of 99.

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Rab McBeth – who died for the want of another breath.

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I bowl'd, I struck, I caught, I stopp'd. Sure life's a game of cricket; I block'd with care, with caution popp'd, yet Death has hit my wicket.

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To follow you I am not content, How do I know Which way you went.

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Robert Phillip, gravedigger: Here I lie at the Chancel door; Here lie I because I am poor; The farther in the more you pay; Here I lie as warm as they.

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I lodged have in many a town and travelled many a year. Till age and death have brought me down, to my last lodging here.

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Here lies a man who while he lived was happy as a linnet. He always lied while on the earth and now he's lying in it.

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Although this stone may moulder into dust, yet Joseph Moodey's name continue must

Epitaphs