Author: Epitaph Page 26

Ope'd my eyes took a peep. Didn't like it went back to sleep.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

Dear Sister, Here lies the body of Mary Ford. We hope her soul is with the Lord But if for hell she's changed this life, better live there than as J. Ford's wife.

Epitaphs

Poems and Epitaphs are but stuff – Here lies Zed Blacksword – that’s enough

Epitaphs

In memory of Henry Wang, son of his, Father and mother, John and Maria Wang. Died Dec. 31st 1829 … The first deposit of this yard.

Epitaphs

Here lies Suzannah Ensign; Lord she is thin

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

Been Here: Now Gone: Had a Good Time.

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

He married five wives, Whom he survived. At the age of 93 he walked to London, to seek a sixth but died before he found her.

Epitaphs

Rebecca Freeland, 1741 – She drank good ale, good punch and wine, and lived to the age of 99.

Epitaphs

Sacred to the memory of Henry Harris who died from a kick by a colt in his bowells. Peacable and quiet, a friend to his father and mother, respected by all who knew him, gone to the world where horses don’t kick, where sorrow and weeping are no more.

Epitaphs

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

I am not grieved, my dearest life. Sleep on, I've got another wife. Therefore, I cannot come to thee For I must go and live with she.

Epitaphs

Don’t Talk So Damn Dumb

Epitaphs

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

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Sarah Sexton – She was a wife that never vexed one. – But I can't say as much for the one at the next stone.

Epitaphs

Captain Thomas Coffin, died 1842, age 50 years. He's done a-catching cod and gone to meet his God.

Epitaphs

This is to the memory of Ellen Hill, a woman who would always have her will. She snubbed her husband but she made good bread. Yet on the whole he’s rather glad she’s dead. She whipped her children and she drank her gin, whipped virtue out and whipped the devil in. May all such women go to some great fold, where they through all eternity may scold.

Epitaphs

Poor Betty Conway, she drank lemonade at a masquerade, So now she's dead and gone away.

Epitaphs

Here lies one who for medicine would not give, a little gold, and so his life he lost: I fancy now he'd wish again to live, could he but guess how much his funeral cost.

Epitaphs