Quaint Epitaphs Part 10

We should not had time to missle Had they blown the engine whistle.

Here lies the remains of John Hall grocer.

The world is not worth a fig I have good _raisins_ for saying so.

Amanda Lowe.

She loved me and my grandchildren reverenced her. She bathed my feet and kept my socks well darned.

A bird, a man, a loaded gun.

No bird, dead man, thy will be done.

IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES.

AT ST. MARY LE BONE.

Queen Elizabeth.

(By Laureate Skelton.)

Fame blow aloud, and to the world proclaim, There never ruled such a royal dame!

The word of G.o.d was ever her delight, In it she meditated day and night.

Spain's rod, Rome's ruin, Netherland's relief, Earth's joy, England's gem, world's wonder, Nature's chief.

She was and is, what can there more be said, On earth the chief, in Heaven the second made.

IN HARROW CHURCHYARD.

(Ascribed to Lord Byron.)

Beneath these green trees rising to the skies, The planter of them, Isaac Greentree lies!

A time shall come when these green trees shall fall, And Isaac Greentree rise above them all.

SURREY, ENGLAND.

The Lord was good I was lopping off wood And down fell from a tree.

I met with a check that broke my neck And so G.o.d lopped off me.

Here lies John Higley whose father and mother were drowned in their pa.s.sage from America. Had they both lived they would have been buried here.

ABERDEEN, SCOTLAND.

Here lies Martin Elmrod.

Have mercy on my soul, good G.o.d As I would do were I Lord G.o.d And you were Martin Elmrod.

Here lies Thomas Smith And what is somewhat rareish, He was born bred and hanged In this e'er parish.

Here I lie at the chancel door And I lie here because I am poor; For the farther in the more you pay, But here I lie as warm as they.

PICKERING CHURCHYARD.

Death comes to all, none can resist his dart At his command the dearest friends must part.

A mournful widow who this truth doth own In grat.i.tude erects this humble stone.

CHILDWELL, ENGLAND.

Here lies the body of John Smith.

Buried in the cloisters If he don't jump at the last trump, Call, Oysters!

ENGLAND.

If Heaven be pleased when sinners cease to sin, If h.e.l.l be pleased when sinners enter in, If earth be pleased when ridded of a knave, Then all are pleased for Coleman's in his grave.

Samuel Gardner was blind in one eye and in a moment of confusion he stepped out of a receiving and discharging door in one of the warehouses into the ineffable glories of the celestial sphere.

To the memory of Ric Richards who by a gangrene first lost a toe, then a leg and lastly his life.

Ah cruel Death to make three meals of one, To taste and eat, and eat till all was gone.

But know thou tyrant when the trump shall call, He'll find his feet, and stand where thou shalt fall.

Poet & Shoemaker.

Joseph Blackett.

Stranger behold interred together The lords of learning and of leather.