Quaint Epitaphs by Various (e novels to read txt) 📕

He neither crys or hollers.
He lived just one and twenty days,
And cost us forty dollars.

Charity wife of Gideon Bligh
Underneath this stone doth lie
Naught was she e'er known to do
That her husband told her to.

Here lies the wife of brother Thomas,
Whom tyrant death has torn from us,
Her husband never shed a tear,
Until his wife was buried here.
And then he made a fearful rout,
For fear she might find her way out.

He first departed, she a little tried to live without him. Liked it not and died.

His illness lay not in one part
But o'er his frame it spread.
The fatal disease was in his heart
And water in his head.

In memory of Elizabeth Taylor.

Could blooming years and modesty and all thats pleasing to the eye,
Against grim death been a defence,
Elizabeth had not gone hence.

Died when young and full of promise
Of whooping cough our Thomas.

She lived with her husband fifty years
And died in the confident hope of a better life.

Stop dear parent cast your eye,
And here you see your children lie.
Though we are gone one day before,
You may be cold in a minute more.

Little Teddy, fare thee well,
Safe from earth in Heaven to dwell.
Almost Cherub here below,
Altogether angel now.

On a tombstone for man and wife.

In sunny days and stormy weather,
In youth, and age, we clung together.
We lived and loved, laughed and cried
Together—and almost together died.

Windsor.

Behold! I come as a thief.

Death loves a shining mark.
In this case he had it.

Stowe.

Erected by a widower in memory of his two wives.

This double call is laid to all,
Let none surprise or wonder.
But to the youth it speaks a truth,
In accents loud as thunder.

Stranger pause as you pass by;
My thirteen children with me lie.
See their faces how they shine
Like blossoms on a fruitful vine.

A rum cough carried him off.

Here lies the body of old Uncle David,
Who died in the hope of being sa-ved.
Where he's gone or how he fares,
Nobody knows and nobody cares.

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.

Stay, reader, drop upon this stone
One pitying tear and then be gone:
A handsome pile of flesh and blood
Is here sunk down in its first mud.

I was somebody—who? is no business of yours.

My wife from me departed
And robbed me like a knave;
Which caused me broken hearted
To sink into this grave.
My children took an active part,
To doom me did contrive;
Which stuck a dagger in my heart
That I could not survive.

Pious.

Open thine eyes Lord
I come! I come!

Sacred to the memory of three twins.

My glass is run; yours is running.
Remember death and judgment coming.

This stone was got to keep this lot.
Her father bought. Dig not too near.

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.

Newfane

.

Oh, little Lavina she has gone
To James and Charles and Eliza Ann.
Arm in arm they walk above
Singing the Redeemer's love.

MASSACHUSETTS.

Malden

.

Phebe Sprague.

In the sixteenth year of her age,
Natively quick and spry
As all young people be,
When God commands them down to dust,
How quick they drop you see.

Melrose

.

When I am dead and in my grave
And all my bones are rotten,
If this you see, remember me,
Nor let me be forgotton.

Wendell

.

Mary Hardy Goss Hill Sawin.

Orphan of affection and grief, adopted by aunt and grandsire, nurse of their hospital home.
Wife and widow of Dea John Hills.
Happy wife in rural home of Thomas Sawin eight years.
Often prisinor of calamity and pain.
Exhile of inherited melancholy fifteen years.
Patient waiter on decay and death.
Lover of all who love Jesus.

Here lies the body of Samuel Proctor
Who lived and died without a doctor.

Under these stones lies three children dear;
Two are burried at Taunton and I lie here.

Bromfield

.

In memory of Stephen Pynchon.

One truth is certain when this life is o'er,
Man dies to live and lives to die no more.

Marshfield

.

Julia Webster Appleton.

"Let me go for the day breaketh."

Mt. Auburn

.

"An eclipse at meridian."

Here lies one John Witherbee,
A Boston gallant chap was he.
God had no use for such as he,
The devil rejected Witherbee.

Here lies a man beneath this sod,
Who slandered all except his God,
And him he would have slandered too,
But that his God he never knew.

Plymouth

.

Here lies the body of Thomas Vernon,
The only surviving son of Admiral Vernon.

Here lies the bones of Richard Lawton
Whose death alas! was strangely brought on.
Trying his corns one day to mow off.
His razor slipped and cut his toe off.
His toe or rather what it grew to,
An inflimation quickly flew to.
Which took alas! to mortifying
And was the cause of Richards dying.

Harvard

.

Dea Lemuel Willard

Died in 1821

When present useful, absent wanted
Lived respected, died lamented.

Bishop Jewel

He wrote learnedly, preached painfully, lived piously, died peacefully.

John Safford.

Crushed as a moth beneath Thy hands
We moulder back to dust.
Our feeble frames cannot withstand
And all our beauty's lost.
This mortal life decays apace
How soon the bubble's broke.
Adam and all his numerous race
Are vanity and smoke.

John Daby.

Tis but a few whole days amount
To three score years and ten;
And all beyond that short account
Is sorrow toil and pain.
Our vitals with laborious strife
Bear up the crazy load,
And drag these poor remains of life
Along the toilsome road.

Boston

. (Granary Burying Ground.)

Here I lie bereft of breath
Because a cough carried me off;
Then a coffin they carried me off in.

Dorchester

.

This world's a city, full of crooked streets;
And Death the market place where all men meets.
If life were merchandize that men could buy
The rich would live and none but poor would die.

Of pneumonia supervening consumption complicated with other diseases, the main symptom of which was insanity.