Here lies a Peck, which some men say
Was first of all a Peck of clay;
This wrought with skill divine, while fresh,
Became a curious Peck of flesh.
Through various forms its Maker ran,
Then adding breath made Peck a man;
Full fifty years Peck felt life's troubles
Till death relieved a Peck of troubles;
Then fell poor Peck, as all things must.
And here he lies,--a Peck of dust.
* * * * *
Here lies John Hill, a man of skill,
His age was five times ten,
He ne'er did good, nor ever would,
Had he lived as long again
* * * * *
Here lies the body of John Smith. Had he lived till he got
ashore, he would have been buried here.
* * * * *
Here lies Dr. Trollope,
Who made these stones roll up;
He took a dose of jalop,
And God took his soul up.
* * * * *
John Macpherson
Was a remarkable person;
He stood six feet two
Without his shoe,
And he was slew
At Waterloo.
* * * * *
Here lies John Auricular,
Who in the ways of the Lord walked perpendicular.
* * * * *
Don't weep for me, my wife most dear,
But still remember I lie here,
Altho' cut down when little past my bloom,
Shed not one tear upon my tomb.
* * * * *
From Harrow Churchyard :
In memory of Mr. John Port, son of Mr. Thomas Port, of
Burton-on-Trent, who, not far from this town, had both his legs
severed from his body by the Railway Train. With greatest fortitude
he bore a second amputation by the surgeons, and died from loss of
blood.
Bright rose the morn, and vigorous rose poor Port,
Gay on the train he used his wonted sport.
When noon arrived, a mangled form they bore,
With pain distorted and o'erwhelmed with gore.
When evening came to close the fatal day,
A mutilated corpse the sufferer lay.
* * * * *
A miser:
Here lies one who for medicine would not give
A little gold, and so his life he lost:
I fancy now he'd wish again to live
Could he but guess how much his funeral cost.
* * * * *
Here lies the body of Jonathan Near
Whose mouth it stretched from ear to ear.
Tread softly, stranger, o'er this wonder,
For if he yawns, you're gone, by thunder!
* * * * *
Truro, Nova Scotia:
Don't weep for me, Eliza dear,
I am not dead, but sleeping here.
As I am now so you must be,
Prepare for death and follow me.