Author: Epitaph Page 6

Here richly, with ridiculous display, the politician’s corpse was laid away. While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged, I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.

Epitaphs

I’d rather be in Boston watching the Red Sox

Epitaphs

Sacred to the remains of Jonathan Thompson. A pious Christian and affectionate husband. His disconsolate widow continues to carry on his grocery business At the old stand on Main Street: Cheapest and best prices in town.

Epitaphs

I was not, I am not, I grieve not

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Owen Moore, gone away. Owin' more, than he could pay

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Our bodies are like shoes, which off we cast, physic their cobblers, and Death their last.

Epitaphs

Martha and I together lived – Just two years and a half; – She went first, and I followed after – the cow before the calf.

Epitaphs

His virtues and his pills are so well known, that envy can’t confine them under stone.

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

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Jonathan Grober died dead sober. Lord thy wonders never cease.

Epitaphs

The Lord saw good; I was lopping off wood, and down fell from the tree; I met with a check, and I broke my neck, and so Death lopped off me.

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Uncle Walter Loved To Spend. He Had No Money in the End. But with Many a Whiskey and Many a Wife, He Really Did Enjoy His Life.

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Elizabeth Scott lies buried here, She was born Nov 20th 1785, according to the best of her recollection.

Epitaphs

Born of woman, killed by lead. I most likely had your wife in bed.

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Fate cuts the thread of life, as all men know, and Fate cut his, though he so well could sew. It matters not how fine the web is spun, ‘tis all unravelled when our course is run.

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Here lies the body of Detlof Swenson, waiter. God finally caught his eye.

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Here lies the body of Martha Dias, who was always uneasy, and not over pious; she lived to the age of three score and ten, and gave that to the worms she refused to the men.

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Here lies Dead Tom

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

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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.

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I put my wife beneath this stone, for her repose and for my own.

Epitaphs