Part 2
By the chance of the die, On his back here doth lie Our most audible clerk, Master Hammond; Tho' he _bore many men_ Till threescore and ten, Yet, at length he by death is backgammoned. But hark! neighbors, hark! Here again comes the clerk; By a hit very lucky and nice, With death we're now even He just stepped to heaven, And is with us again in a Trice.
* * * * *
A sailor:
Whether sailor or not, for a moment avast, Poor Tom's mizzen topsail is laid to the mast; He'll never turn out, or more heave the lead; He's now all aback, nor will sails shoot ahead. He ever was brisk, and tho' now gone to wreck, When he hears the last whistle, he'll jump upon deck.
* * * * *
An old school-mistress, in Dorchester:
Here lies the body of Miriam Wood, formerly wife to John Smith.
A woman well beloved of all her neighbors for her care of small folks' education, their number being great, that when she died she scarcely left her mate:
So wise discreet was her behaviours that she was well esteemed by neighbors. She lived in love with all to die So let her rest to eternitye.
* * * * *
On a maid of honor:
Here lies (the Lord have mercy on her) One of Her Majesty's maids of honour: She was young, slender, and pretty; She died a maid--the more's the pity.
* * * * *
Here lies poor stingy Timmy Wyatt, Who died at noon and saved a dinner by it.
* * * * *
In Memory of Mr. Joseph Crapp; shipwright who died ye 26th of November 1770 Aged 43 years.
Alass Frend Joseph His End was Allmost Sudden As thou the mandate came Express from heaven his foot it slip--And he did fall help, help he cries--& that was all.
* * * * *
In the old church of Wrexham there was (in 1858) a tablet with the following inscription:
Here lieth, underneath these stones, The Beard, the Flesh, and eke the Bones Of Wrexham's Clerk, old Daniel Jones.
* * * * *
On an architect:
Lie heavy on him, earth, for he Laid many a heavy load on thee.
* * * * *
On a watchmaker, 1802, Æt 57:
Here lies in horizontal position, the outside Case of George Routleigh, Watchmaker. Integrity was the Mainspring, and prudence the Regulator, Of all the actions of his life. Humane, generous, and liberal, his hand never stopped till he had relieved distress. So nicely regulated were all his Motions, that he never went wrong, except when set a-going by people who did not know his Key: Even then he was easily set right again. He had the art of disposing his time so well, that his Hours kept running on in a continual round of pleasure, till an unlucky Minute put a stop to his existence. He departed this life in hopes of being taken in hand by his Maker; and of being thoroughly Cleaned, Repaired, Wound up, and Set a-going in the world to come.
* * * * *
Over the grave of a Shropshire blacksmith:
My sledge and anvil lie declined, My bellows too have lost their wind; My fire's extinct, my forge decay'd, And in the dust my body's laid: My coal is out, my iron's gone, My nails are drove, my work is done.
* * * * *
A bone collector:
Here lies old Jones, Who all his life collected bones, Till death, that grim and bony spectre, That all-amassing bone collector, Boned old Jones, so neat and tidy, That here he lies all bona fide.
Miscellaneous Epitaphs.
Essex, England:
Here lies the man Richard, And Mary his wife, Whose surname was Prichard: They lived without strife; And the reason was plain,-- They abounded in riches, They had no care nor pain, And his wife wore the breeches.
* * * * *
In Llangowen Churchyard, Wales:
Our life is but a summer's day: Some only breakfast, and away; Others to dinner stay, and are full fed; The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed. Large his account who lingers out the day; Who goes the soonest, has the least to pay.
* * * * *
Middletown, Connecticut, 1741:
Under this stone Lies my dear son Which was an infant flower; Whose dust God keeps Ev'n while he sleeps, Until the rising hour.
* * * * *
Many a cold wind o'er my body shall roll While in Abraham's bosom I'm a feasting my soul.
* * * * *
The rising morn can't assume That we shall end the day, Death stands waiting at the door To bear our souls away
* * * * *
Here lies I, Killed by a sky- Rocket in my eye.
* * * * *
From the Baltimore _Sun_:
He heard the angels calling him From the celestial shore, He flapped his wings and away he went To make one angel more.
* * * * *
Shall all we die? We shall die all. All die shall we? Die all we shall.
* * * * *
How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest, They sleep not in their regimentals, Such things being here not deemed essentials.
* * * * *
It was a cough that carried him off, It was a coffin they carred off in.
* * * * *
On an infant eight months old:
Since I have been so quickly done for, I wonder what I was begun for.
* * * * *
Little Johnny had a purple monkey Climbing up a yellow stick, Little Johnny licked the purple paint off, And it made him deathly sick. They stirred him up with calomel, They tried to move his liver, But all in vain, his little soul Was wafted o'er the River.
* * * * *
Potterne in Wiltshire:
Here lies Joseph Trowlup Who made yon stones roll up; When death took his soul up, His body filled this hole up.
* * * * *
From Massachusetts, where a sorrowing and pious parent inscribed the following two lines to the memory of his dead child:
We cannot have all things to please us, Poor little Tommy's gone to Jesus.
A sympathetic reader, mistaking the point of the lament, added the lines:
Cheer up, dear friend--all may yet be well, Perhaps poor little Tommy's gone to Hell.
* * * * *
New Berne, North Carolina:
Ingenious youth, thou art laid in dust. Thy friends, for thee, in tears did burst.
* * * * *
York, Maine:
Although this stone may moulder into dust, Yet Joseph Moodey's name continue must.
* * * * *
In Biddeford churchyard, Devon:
The wedding-day appointed was, And wedding clothes provided; Before the nuptial day, alas! He sickened and he die did.
* * * * *
Lines written by a lady to console herself for the death of her father:
It will not do to give way To _des_pair and grief, For according to God's ordination Our trials in life are trifling and brief, Compared to eternal damnation.
* * * * *
Lord Coningsby:
Here lies Lord Coningsby, be civil, The rest God knows--so does the devil.
* * * * *
1767:
Tho' Boreas' blasts and boistrous waves Have tost me to and fro, In spite of both, by God's decree, I harbor here below, Where I do now at Anchor ride With many of our fleet, Yet once again I must set sail My Admiral Christ to meet.
* * * * *
In Corley Churchyard, Warwickshire, England:
These hillocks green and mouldering bones These gloomy tombs and lettered stones, One admonition here supply: Reader! art thou prepared to die?
* * * * *
Sleep soft in dust, wait the Almighty's will, Then rise unchanged, and be an angel still.
* * * * *
Two children in Dorchester (a double inscription):
Abel--his offering accepted is His body to the grave, his soul to blis On Octobers twentye and no more The yeare was sixteen hundred forty-four.
Submite submitted to her heavenly king. Being a flower of that eternal Spring, Near three years old, she died in heaven to wait, The yeare was sixteen hundred forty-eight.
* * * * *
1808:
Boreas' blasts and Neptune's waves Have tossed him to and fro, But, by the sacred will of God, He's anchored here below.
* * * * *
On a tombstone in New Jersey:
Reader, pass on!--don't waste your time On bad biography and bitter rhyme; For what I _am_, this crumbling clay insures, And what I _was_, is no affair of yours!
* * * * *
From Portland, Oregon:
Beneath this stone our baby lies, It neither cries nor hollers, It lived but one and twenty days, And cost us forty dollars.
* * * * *
This world is a prison in every respect, Whose walls are the heavens in common; The jailor is sin, and the prisoners men; And the fetters are nothing but women.
* * * * *
Cornwall:
Forty-nine years they lived as man and wife, And what's more rare, thus many without strife; She first departing, he a few weeks tried To live without her, could not, and so died. Both in their wedlock's great Sabbatic rest To be where there's no wedlock was blest, And having here a jubilee begun They're taken hence that it may ne'er be done.
* * * * *
Here lies a Mother and two Babes, Who God has shortly called to their graves, In heaven we hope they are blest There to remain in eternal rest.
* * * * *
At Augusta, Maine:
--After Life's Scarlet Fever I sleep well.
* * * * *
Here lies John Ross, Kick'd by a hoss.
* * * * *
Mammy and I together lived Just two years and a half; She went first--I followed next, The cow before the calf.
* * * * *
I laid my wife beneath this stone For her repose and for my own.
* * * * *
Beneath this stone a lump of clay, Lies Arabella Young; Who on the 24th of May, Began to hold her tongue.
* * * * *
Here rests an old woman who always was tired, For she lived in a house where no help was hired; Her very last words were, "My friends I am goin' To a land where there's nothin' of washin' or sewin', And everything there shall be just to my wishes, For where they don't eat there's no washin' of dishes; The land with sweet anthems is constantly ringin', But having no voice I'll get clear of the singin'." She folded her hands, her latest endeavor, And whispered, "Oh nothin', sweet nothin forever."
* * * * *
At Kensington, N. H.:
A live Dog is better than a dead Lion.
* * * * *
Come drop a tear as you pass by, As you are now so once was I, As I am now you soon must be, Prepare for death and follow me.
* * * * *
A zealous locksmith died of late, And did arrive at heaven's gate: He stood without, and would not knock, Because he meant to pick the lock.
* * * * *
Here lies Matthew Mudd, Death did him no hurt; When alive he was _mud_, Now he's nothing but dirt.
* * * * *
Here lies I and my three daughters, Kill'd by drinking Cheltenham waters; If we had stuck to Epsom salts, We'd not been a lying in these here vaults.
* * * * *
Here lies William Smith, And what is somewhat rarish, He was born, bred and Hanged in this parish.
* * * * *
On Thomas Woodcock:
Here lie the remains of Thomas Wood_hen_, The most amiable of husbands and excellent of men.
N. B. His real name was Wood_cock_, but it Wouldn't come in rhyme.--_His widow._
* * * * *
On Dr. Walker, author of "English Particles":
Here lie Walker's particles.
* * * * *
An Irish epitaph:
Here lies the body of Jonathan Ground, Who was lost at sea and never found.
* * * * *
On a coroner who hanged himself:
He lived and died By _suicide_.
* * * * *
On Dr. Fuller:
Here lies Fuller's earth.
* * * * *
On a brewer:
Poor John Scott lies buried here; Tho' once he was _hale_ and _stout_, Death stretch'd him on his _bitter bier_. In another world he _hops_ about!
* * * * *
Here lieth Richard Dent In his last tenement.
* * * * *
Here lies Tommy Day, Removed from over the way.
* * * * *
In New Jersey:
Julia ---- Died of thin shoes, April 17th, 1839, aged 19 years.
* * * * *
On a covetous person:
Of him within, nought e'er gratis was had, That you read this so cheap now makes him sad.
* * * * *
On John Shaw, an attorney:
Here lies John Shaw, Attorney-at-law, And when he died The Devil cried "Give us your paw, John Shaw, Attorney-at-Law, Pshaw! Pshaw!"
* * * * *
From Philadelphia:
In memory of Henry Wang, son of his Father and mother, John and Maria Wang.
Died Dec. 31st, 1829, aged 1/2 hour. The first deposit of this yard.
A short-lived joy Was our little boy. He has gone on high, So don't you cry.
* * * * *
Against his will Here lies George Hill Who from a cliff Fell down quite stiff When it happen'd is not known Therefore not mentioned on this stone.
* * * * *
Here lies my wife in earthly mould, Who, when she liv'd, did naught but scold; Peace, wake her not, for now she's still, She had, but now I have my will.
* * * * *
This turf has drunk a widow's tear, Three of her husbands slumber here.
It may be interesting to state that the tearful widow was still living with a fourth partner.
* * * * *
Here lies Sir JOHN GUISE: No one laughs, no one cries: Where he's gone, and how he fares, No one knows, and no one cares.
* * * * *
On a celebrated cook:
Peace to his hashes.
* * * * *
"Underneath this ancient pew Lie the remains of Jonathan BLUE; His name was BLACK, but that wouldn't do."
* * * * *
"Here I lie, and no wonder I am dead, For the wheel of a wagon went over my head."
* * * * *
Here lies the body of MOLLY DICKIE, the Wife of HALL DICKIE, tailor
Two great physicians first My Loving husband tried, To cure my pain---- In vain, At last he got a third, And then I died.
* * * * *
As I am now, so you must be, Therefore prepare to follow me.
Written under:
To follow you I'm not content, How do I know which way you went.
* * * * *
The manner of her death was thus: She was druv over by a Bus.
* * * * *
On Jonathan Fiddle, written by Ben Johnson:
On the twenty-second of June Jonathan Fiddle went out of tune.
* * * * *
On John Cole, who died suddenly, while at dinner:
Here lies Johnny Cole, Who died, on my soul, after eating a plentiful dinner. While chewing his crust, He was turned into dust, with his crimes undigested--poor sinner.
* * * * *
Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery free, Who long was a bookseller's hack. He led such a damnable life in this world I don't think he'll ever come back.
* * * * *
She lived genteely on a small income.
* * * * *
Here lies my poor wife, much lamented She's happy, and I'm contented
* * * * *
On Burbridge, the tragedian:
Exit Burbridge
* * * * *
A laconic epitaph:
Snug.
* * * * *
Since all that's mortal turns to dust Reader! be humble and be just; 'Twill ease thy mind of anxious care And sooth thy passage--_God knows where!_
* * * * *
On this marble drop a tear-- Here lies poor Rosalind: All mankind were pleas'd with her And she with all mankind.
* * * * *
Pray for me, old Thomas Dunn But if you don't, tis all one.
* * * * *
To the memory of Thomas Hause:
"Lord, thy grace is free,--why not for me?"
This man dying greatly in debt, one of his creditors wrote underneath:
And the Lord answered and said,-- "Because thy debts aint paid!"
* * * * *
Our bodies are like shoes, which off we cast, Physic their cobblers, and Death their last.
* * * * *
Who lies here?--Who do you think? 'Tis poor Will Gibson--give him a drink. Give him a drink, I'll tell you for why, When he was living, he always was dry.
* * * * *
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--.
* * * * *
On John Phillips:
Accidentally shot as a mark of affection by his brother.
* * * * *
The little hero that lies here Was conquered by the diarrhoea.
* * * * *
My wife lies here, All my tears cannot bring her back; Therefore, I weep.
* * * * *
Died when young and full of promise Of whooping cough our Thomas.
* * * * *
A rum cough carried him off.
* * * * *
Grim death took little Jerry, The son of Joseph and Sereno Howells, Seven days he wrestled with the dysentery And then he perished in his little bowels
* * * * *
On a tombstone in Grafton, Vt.:
Gone home below.
* * * * *
Here lies Bernard Lightfoot who was accidentally killed in his forty fifth year.
Erected by his grateful family.
* * * * *
In a churchyard near Boston, Mass.:
Of pneumonia supervening consumption complicated with other diseases, the main symptoms of which was insanity.
* * * * *
In Nova Scotia:
Here lies old twenty five per cent. The more he had the more he lent. The more he had the more he craved, Great God, can this poor soul be saved.
* * * * *
A bird, a man, a loaded gun, No bird, dead man, thy will be done.
* * * * *
In a New York churchyard:
We shall miss thee, mother. (Job printing neatly done.)
* * * * *
At East Thompson, N. Y.:
Here lies one who never sacrificed his reason to superstitious God, nor ever believed that Jonah swallowed the whale
* * * * *
Alpha White, weight 300 pounds. Open wide ye golden gates That lead to the heavenly shore, Our father suffered in passing through And mother weighs much more
* * * * *
He's done a catching cod And gone to meet his God.
* * * * *
He got a fish bone in his throat And then he sang an angels note
* * * * *
Here lies Jane Smith, Wife of Thomas Smith, Marble Cutter This monument was erected by her husband as a tribute to her memory and a specimen of his work. Monuments of this same style are two hundred and fifty dollars.
* * * * *
Here lies Dodge, who dodged all good And dodged a deal of evil. But after dodging all he could He could not dodge the devil.
* * * * *
Sacred to twins Charlie and Varlie Sons of loving parents who died in infancy.
* * * * *
Deeply regretted by all who never knew him.
Supplementary Epitaphs.
Blank pages for the convenience of collectors.
Transcriber's Note:
There are 18 blank pages at the end of the book with the header Supplementary Epitaphs. Blank pages for the convenience of collectors.
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. OE ligatures have been expanded.