blueinkedfrost

William Andrews, 1883

The title sums it up. This is good stuff. It's the sort of book where you never realised your life was incomplete without it until you came across the title...and realised that this is a necessity.

Covers all sorts of epitaphs from bacchanalian to punning to musical.

Here lies interred the Body of
Mary Haselton,
A young maiden of this town,
Born of Roman Catholic parents,
And virtuously brought up,
Who, being in the act of prayer
Repeating her vespers,
Was instantaneously killed by a
flash of Lightning, August 16th,
1785. Aged 9 years.

Not Siloam’s ruinous tower the victims slew,
Because above the many sinn’d the few,
Nor here the fated lightning wreaked its rage
By vengeance sent for crimes matur’d by age.
For whilst the thunder’s awful voice was heard,
The little suppliant with its hands uprear’d,
Addressed her God in prayers the priest had taught,
His mercy craved, and His protection sought;
Learn reader hence that wisdom to adore,
Thou canst not scan and fear His boundless power;
Safe shalt thou be if thou perform’st His will,
Blest if he spares, and more blest should He kill.

--

Here I lie, at the chancel door,
Here I lie, because I’m poor;
The farther in, the more you pay,
Here I lie as warm as they.

--

John Scott was a Liverpool brewer.

Poor John Scott lies buried here;
Although he was both hale and stout,
Death stretched him on the bitter bier.
In another world he hops about.

--

Mrs Freland also liked a tipple.

She drank good ale, strong punch and wine,
And lived to the age of ninety-nine.

--

There's a novel in this inscription to soldier Phoebe Hessel.( Read more... )

...Nigel Rees eat your heart out?