Author: Epitaph Page 2

This wasn’t my idea

Epitaphs

Here lies a man that was Knott born, His father was Knott before him, He lived Knott, and did Knott die, Yet underneath this stone doth lie.

Epitaphs

3.14159265358979323846264338327950288…,

Epitaphs

… But the reason why I am here interred according to my thinking, – Is owing to my good living and hard drinking, – If therefore, good Christians, you wish to live long – Don't drink to much wine, brandy, gin, or any thing strong.

Epitaphs

We must all die there is no doubt – Your glass is running… mine is out

Epitaphs

He had six bullets but he needed seven.

Epitaphs

Sacred to the memory of My husband John Barnes Who died January 3, 1803. His comely young widow, aged 23, has many qualifications of a good wife, and yearns to be comforted.

Epitaphs

These hillocks green and mouldering bones, these gloomy tombs and lettered stones. One admonition here supply: Reader! art thou prepared to die?

Epitaphs

Here I lie, taken from life.

Epitaphs

Here lies Rob Master, Faith! 'twas 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

Dear God, Thanks

Epitaphs

Entombed within this vault a lawyer lies, who, fame assureth us was just and wise, an able advocate and honest too; that's wondrous strange, indeed, if it be true.

Epitaphs

He looked for gold and died of lead poison

Epitaphs

Here lies Ezekiel Aikle Age 102 – The Good Die Young.

Epitaphs

Grim Death To Please His Palate Has Taken My Lettice To Put in His Sallat.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

I’m A Writer But Then Nobody’s Perfect

Epitaphs

Here lies Salvino Armalo D'Armati of Florence, the inventor of spectacles. May God pardon his sins!

Epitaphs

Here lies my twins as dead as nits, One died of fever the other of fits.

Epitaphs

Two great physicians first, my Loving husband tried, to cure my pain, in vain. At last he got a third, and then I died.

Epitaphs