Author: Epitaph Page 18

Here lies old Jones, who all his life collected bones, till death, that grim and bony spectre, that all-amassing bone collector, boned old Jones, so neat and tidy, that here he lies all bona fide.

Epitaphs

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

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.

Epitaphs

Our Little Charlie – He dropped into our world to taste life’s bitter cup, but turned his little head aside, disgusted with the taste and died.

Epitaphs

Here lies, cut down like unripe fruit, The wife of Deacon Amos Shute. She died of drinking too much coffee, Anno Dominy eighteen forty

Epitaphs

Mr. Fish. Worms are bait for fish, but here's a sudden change, fish is bait for worms. Is not that passing strange?

Epitaphs

This is what I expected, but not so soon.

Epitaphs

My candle burns at both ends, – It will not last the night, – But Oh, my foes, – And Ah, my friends, – It gives a lovely light

Epitaphs

Beloved Husband of Joan, A Man With Nature, Who Loved Life & His Jigsaws – "Didjabringabeer"

Epitaphs

Here lyeth wrapped in clay, the body of Ester Wray: I have no more to say, except bless the day, she went away 3rd May 1872.

Epitaphs

Died at the age of 102 at the hands of a justifiably outraged husband.

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Don't worry, I'm merely catching up with sleep.

Epitaphs Situations Sleep

Here lies an Atheist. All dressed up and no place to go.

Epitaphs

Here into the dust, the mouldering crust, of Eleanour Bachelour's shoven; well versed in the arts of pies, custards, and tarts. And the lucrative skill of the oven. When she lived long enough, she made her last puff, a puff by her husband much praised, now here she doth lie and makes a dirt pie, in hopes that her crust shall be raised.

Epitaphs

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.

Epitaphs

Here lie the remains of John Hall, grocer. The world is not worth a fig, and I have good raisins for saying so.

Epitaphs

This is the last long resting place, Of Aunt Jemima Jones, Her soul ascended into space, Amidst our tears and groans, She was not pleasing to the eye, Nor had she any brain, And when she talked twas through her nose, Which gave her friends much pain, But still we feel that she was worth, The money that was spent, upon the coffin, hearse and stone (The funeral plumes were lent).

Epitaphs

Here lies two brothers by misfortune surrounded; one died of wounds, but the other was drownded.

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Here lies Suzannah Ensign; Lord she is thin

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Hold my drink, you're gonna' love this.

Epitaphs

Here rests an old woman who always was tired, for she lived in a house where no help was hired; Her very last words were, “My friends I am goin*, to a land where there's nothin' of washin' or sewin', and everything there shall be just to ray wishes, for where they don't eat there's no washin' of dishes; the land with sweet anthems is constantly ringin', but having no voice I'll get clear of the singin'." She folded her hands, her latest endeavor, and whispered, "Oh nothin', sweet nothin forever."

Epitaphs