Author: Epitaph Page 21

Here lies the darling of his time – Mitchel expired in his prime. – Who four years short of forty seven – Was found full ripe and plucked for Heaven.

Epitaphs

… 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.

Epitaphs

My father and mother were both insane. I inherited the terrible stain. My grandfather, grandmother, Aunts and uncles Were lunatics all And yet died of carbuncles

Epitaphs

"I knew this was going to happen to me."

Epitaphs

I'll thank you not to put your butt on my grave.

Epitaphs

Here lays Butch. We planted him raw. He was quick on the trigger – But slow on the draw.

Epitaphs

Mary, Mary, quite contrary How does your garden grow? Quite well, I bet, Since it's well fed By her body decomposing below.

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

Here lies the body of Martha Dias, Who was always uneasy and not over pious, She liv'd to the age of threescore and ten, And gave that to the worms she refus'd to the men.

Epitaphs

Stop, reader, pray and read my gate. What caused my life to terminate. For thieves by night when in my bed Broke in my house and shot me dead.

Epitaphs

"Here I lie, and no wonder I am dead, for the wheel of a wagon went over my head."

Epitaphs

Erected to the memory of John Macfarlane. Drowned in the waters of Leith – by a few affectionate friends.

Epitaphs

She always said her feet were killing her – but nobody believed her.

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He was a simple man who died of complications.

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Here lies the body of Mary Morgan. Like the morning dew she glistened, exhaled, and went to heaven.

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My trip is ended: send my samples home

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

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Here lies a man never beat by a plan, straight was his aim and sure of his game, never was a lover but invented a revolver.

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Here lies Sissie Chang – Fumbled a grenade, went out with a bang

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Life is a jest, and all things show it; I thought so once and now I know it.

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Sacred to the memory of Anthony Drake, who died for peace and quietness sake; his wife was constantly scolding and scoffin; so he sought for repose in a twelve-dollar coffin.

Epitaphs