Chapter 19
Section 19 of Gleanings in Graveyards. A Collection of Curious Epitaphs. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Kyle Donilon.
Gleanings in Graveyards. A Collection of Curious Epitaphs. By Horatio Edward Norfolk. Miscellaneous Part 2 On a very idle fellow
Here lieth one that once was born and cried Live several years and then and then he died On a great consumer of bread, cheese, and tobacco Here, gaffer be, jaws are laid at ease Whose death has dropped the price of bread and cheese
He eat, he drink, he smoked, and then He eat and drink and smoked again So modern patriots rightly understood Live to themselves and die for public good Thin in beard and thick in purse
Never man be loved worse He went to the grave with many a curse. The devil and he had both one nurse. They were so one that none could say, which of them ruled or whether did obey. He ruled because she would obey, and she, in so obeying, ruled as well as he. Good people draw near, there is no need of a tear.
Mary L. is gone to his bed. I am placed here to tell, where now lies the shell. If he had any soul it is fled. Make the bells ring aloud, and be joyful the crowd. For mirth was his favorite theme, which to praise he turned poet.
It's fit, you should know it, since he has left nothing more than his name. On an Ass by the late, late Dr. Jenner Beneath this huge hillock here lies a poor creature, So gentle, so easy, so harmless his nature. On earth by kind, heaven he surely was sent,
To teach erring mortals the road to content. Whatever befell him, he bore his hard fate, Nor envied the steed in his high-pampered state. Though homely his fare was, he'd never repine. On a dock could eat breakfast, on thistles could dine.
No matter how coarse or unsavory his salad, Content made the flavor suit well with his palate, Now, reader, depart, and as onward you pass, reflect on the lesson you've heard from an ass. On a Potter How frail is man, how short life's longest day!
Here lies the worthy potter, turned to clay, Whose forming hand, and whose reforming care, Has left us full of flaws, vile earthenware. It was his usual custom and company when he told anything to ask, Do you hear? And if anyone said no, no matter, I've said.
Death came to John and whispered in his ear, You must die, John. Do you hear? Quoth John to death, The news is bad. No matter, quote death, I've said. Punning epitaph.
Cecil Clay, the counselor of Chesterfield, caused this whimsical illusion or pun upon his name to be put upon his gravestone. Two ciphers of C.C., and underneath some quad fui. I am what I was. Dead drunk, here Elderton doth lie. Dead as he is, he still is dry. So of him it may well be said, Here he, but not his thirst, is laid.
On a juggler, Death came to see thy tricks, And cut in twain. Thy thread, why didst not make it whole again? To a magistrate's widow,
Her husband died, and while she tried, To live behind, could not, and died. Epitaph on the parson of a parish, Come, let us rejoice, merry boys, at his fall. For egad, had he lived, he'd a-buried us all.
Anna Baker Richard Fuller lies buried here. Do not withhold the crystal tear. For when he lived, he daily fed, Woman and man and child with bread.
But now, alas, he's turned to dust, As thou and I and all soon must. And lies beneath this turf so green, Where words do daily feed on heme. An original. Here lies fast asleep, awake me who can, The medley of passion in follies a man,
Who sometimes loved license and sometimes restraint, Too much of the sinner, too little of saint. From quarter to quarter I shifted my tack, Gainst the evils of life a most notable quack But alas, I soon found the defects of my skill
And my nostrums in practice proved treacherous still From life's certain ills, t'was in vain to seek ease The remedy oft proved another disease When enrapture began, often ended in sorrow And the pleasure today brought reflection tomorrow
When each action was o'er and its errors were seen, Then I viewed with surprise the strange thing I had been. My body and mind were so oddly contrived, That at each other's failing both parties connived. Imprudence of mind brought on sickness and pain,
The body diseased, paid the debt back again. Thus coupled together life's journey they passed, till they wrangled and jangled and parted at last. Thus tired and weary I finished my course, and glad it is bedtime and things are no worse. On a publican. Thomas Thompson's buried here, and what is more, he's in his beer. In life thy beer did thee surround,
and now with thee is in the ground. End of section 19.
