Funny Epitaphs :: Epitaphs on Occupations.

Epitaphs on Occupations.

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On an old woman who kept a pottery-shop in Chester, England:

Beneath these stones lies old Kathering Gray,
Changed from a busy life to lifeless clay;
By earth and clay she got her pelf,
But now is turned to earth herself.
Ye weeping friends, let me advise,
Abate your grief and dry your eyes,
For what avails a flood of tears?
Who knows but in a run of years,
In some tall pitcher or bread pan,
She in her shop may be again?

On an undertaker:

Here lies Rob Master. Faith! 'twas very hard
To take away an honest Robin's breath;
Yes, surely Robin was full well prepared,
For he was always looking out for death.

Nell Bachelour, an Oxford pie woman:

Here into the dust
The mouldering crust
Of Eleanour Bachelour's shoven;
Well versed in the arts
Of pies, custards, and tarts,
And the lucrative skill of the oven.

When she lived long enough
She made her last puff,
A puff by her husband much praised,
Now here she doth lie
And makes a dirt pie,
In hopes that her crust shall be raised.

On a tramp:

Here lies one that once was born and cried,
Lived several years—and then—and then he died.

A photographer:

Here I lie, taken from life.

A lawyer:

Entombed within this vault a lawyer lies
Who, fame assureth us was just and wise,
An able advocate and honest too;
That's wondrous strange, indeed, if it be true.

Another lawyer:

See how God works his wonders now and then,—
Here lies a lawyer, and an honest man.

A tailor:

Fate cuts the thread of life, as all men know,
And Fate cut his, though he so well could sew.
It matters not how fine the web is spun,
'Tis all unravelled when our course is run.

Here lies an editor.

On a horse thief:

He found a rope and picked it up,
And with it walked away.
It happened that to tother end
A horse was hitched, they say.
They took the rope and tied it up
Unto a hickory limb.
It happened that the tother end
Was somehow hitched to him.

A wood-cutter at Ockham, Surrey:

The Lord saw good; I was lopping off wood,
And down fell from the tree;
I met with a check, and I broke my neck,
And so Death lopped off me.

A parish clerk:

Here lies within this tomb, so calm,
Old Giles; pray sound his knell;
Who thought no song was like a psalm,
No music like a knell.

On a parish clerk who loved backgammon, and was succeeded in office by a Mr. Trice:

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.

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