Author: Epitaph Page 20

The body that lies buried here – By lightning fell, death's sacrifice, – To him Elijah's fate was given – He rode on flames of fire to heaven.

Epitaphs

Here lies a man who all his mortal life, spent mending clocks, but could not mend his wife. The larum of his bell was ne’er so shrill as was her tongue, aye, clacking like a mill. But now he’s gone – oh whither none can tell, but hope beyond the sound of Matty’s bell.

Epitaphs

A victim of fast women and slow horses.

Epitaphs

At threescore winters' end I died, a cheerless being, sole and sad; the nuptial knot I never tied, and wish my father never had.

Epitaphs

Brigham Young – born on this spot 1801 – a man of much courage and superb equipment.

Epitaphs

To the Green Memory of William Hawkings, Gardener: Planted Here With Love and Care By His Grieving Colleagues

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

"May ye be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead"

Epitaphs

I’m A Writer But Then Nobody’s Perfect

Epitaphs

He died in bed.

Epitaphs

To the memory of David Wall – Whose superior performance on the bassoon endeared him to an extensive musical acquaintance. His social life closed on the 4th Dec. 1796. in his 57th year.

Epitaphs

Haine haint

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Hannah Thurber. Once she talked none could curb her. Three husbands had she; all are dead. They died of earache, so ‘tis said!

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Edward Hyde. We laid him here because he died.

Epitaphs

He was a man of invention great – Above all who he lived nigh; – But he could not invent to live – When God called him to die.

Epitaphs

This is the grave of Mike O'Day, Who died maintaining his right of way. His right was clear, his will was strong. But he's just as dead as if he'd been wrong.

Epitaphs

Gone home below.

Epitaphs

The manner of her death was thus; She was druv over by a Bus.

Epitaphs

Here lies old Rastus Sominy – died a-eating hominy, In 1859 anno domini

Epitaphs

I would – rather be here – than in Texas.

Epitaphs

Old Vicar Sutor lieth here, Who had a Mouth from ear to ear. Reader tread lightly on the sod. For if he gapes, you're gone by G —.

Epitaphs