| Here lies the remains of James Pady, Brickmaker, in hope that his clay will be remoulded in a workmanlike manner, far superior to his former perishable materials.|
Epitaph from Addiscombe Church-yard, Devonshire.
|Stavo bene; per star meglio, sto qui.|
I was well, I would be better; I am here.
Addisons translation of the epitaph on the monument of an Italian Valetudinarian. Spectator. No. 25. Boswells Johnson, April 7, 1775.
|Sufficit huic tumulus, cui non suffecerit orbis.|
A tomb now suffices him for whom the whole world was not sufficient.
Epitaph on Alexander the Great.
|If Paris that brief flight allow,|
My humble tomb explore!
It bears: Eternity, be thou
My refuge! and no more.
|Here lies who, born a man, a grocer died.|
Translation of a French epitaph: Né hommemort épicier. Alfred AustinGolden Age.
|Here lies Anne Mann; she lived an|
Old maid and died an old Mann.
|Lie lightly on my ashes, gentle earthe.|
Beaumont and FletcherTragedy of Bonduca. Act IV. Sc. 3. (Sit tibi terra levis, familiar inscription.)
|And the voice of men shall call,|
He is fallen like us all,
Though the weapon of the Lord was in his hand:
And thine epitaph shall be
He was wretched evn as we;
And thy tomb may be unhonoured in the land.
Robert BuchananThe Modern Warrior. St. 7.
|And be the Spartans epitaph on me|
Sparta hath many a worthier son than he.
ByronChilde Harold. Canto IV. St. 10.
|Shrine of the mighty! can it be,|
That this is all remains of thee?
ByronGiaour. L. 106.
|Kind reader! take your choice to cry or laugh;|
Here HAROLD liesbut wheres his Epitaph?
If such you seek, try Westminster, and view
Ten thousand, just as fit for him as you.
ByronSubstitute for an Epitaph.
|Yet at the resurrection we shall see|
A fair edition, and of matchless worth,
Free from erratas, new in heaven set forth.
Joseph CapenLines upon Mr.
John Foster. Borrowed from Rev. B. Woodbridge.
|Loe here the precious dust is layd;|
Whose purely-temperd clay was made
So fine that it the guest betrayd.
Else the soule grew so fast within,
It broke the outward shell of sinne
And so was hatchd a cherubin.
Thos. CarewInscription on Tomb of Lady Maria Wentworth. In Toddington Church, Bedfordshire, England.
| This Mirabeaus work, then, is done. He sleeps with the primeval giants. He has gone over to the majority: Abiit ad plures.|
CarlyleEssay on Mirabeau. Close.
|It is so soon that I am done for,|
I wonder what I was begun for!
Epitaph in Cheltenham Church-yard.
|Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,|
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.
ColeridgeEpitaph on an Infant.
|Peas to his Hashes.|
Epitaph on a Cook (London).
|Underneath this crust|
Lies the mouldering dust
Of Eleanor Batchelor Shoven,
Well versed in the arts
Of pies, custards and tarts,
And the lucrative trade of the oven.
When she lived long enough,
She made her last puff,
A puff by her husband much praised,
And now she doth lie
And make a dirt pie,
In hopes that her crust may be raised.
Epitaph on a Cook (Yorkshire).
|What wee gave, wee have;|
What wee spent, wee had;
What wee left, wee lost.
Epitaph on Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon. (1419). In Clevelands Geneal. Hist. of the Family of Courtenay. P. 142. Said to be on a tomb in Padua. Attributed to Carlyle; not found. Like inscriptions are found on many old tombstones. The oldest is probably the one in the choir of St. Peters Church at St. Albans.
| Praised, wept,|
And honoured, by the muse he loved.
Lines from the epitaph of James Craggs in Westminster Abbey.
|And when I lie in the green kirkyard,|
With the mould upon my breast,
Say not that she did wellor ill,
Only, She did her best.
Mrs. Craik (Miss Mulock). Given in her obituary notice in the Athenæum, Oct. 22, 1887.
| O man! whosoever thou art, and whensoever thou comest, for come I know thou wilt, I am Cyrus, founder of the Persian empire. Envy me not the little earth that covers my body.|
PlutarchLife of Alexander. Epitaph of Cyrus.
|Full many a life he saved|
With his undaunted crew;
He put his trust in Providence,
And Cared Not How It Blew.
Epitaph in Deal Churchyard.
|His form was of the manliest beauty,|
His heart was kind and soft,
Faithful, below, he did his duty;
But now hes gone aloft.
Charles DibdinTom Bowling. Written on the death of his brother. Inscribed on Charles Dibdins gravestone, in the cemetery of St. Martins-in-the-Fields, Camden Town.
|For though his bodys under hatches,|
His soul has gone aloft.
Charles DibdinTom Bowling. Written on the death of his brother.
| This comes of altering fundamental laws and overpersuading by his landlord to take physic (of which he died) for the benefit of the doctorStavo bene (was written on his monument) ma per star meglio, sto qui.|
DrydenDedication of the Æneid. XIV. 149.
|Here lies Du Vall; reader, if male thou art,|
Look to thy purse; if female, to thy heart.
Claude Du Valls Epitaph in Covent Garden Church. Found in Francis Watts Laws Slumber Room. 2nd Series.
|If eer she knew an evil thought|
She spoke no evil word:
Peace to the gentle! She hath sought
The bosom of her Lord.
Ebenezer ElliotHannah Ratcliff.
| Let there be no inscription upon my tomb. Let no man write my epitaph. No man can write my epitaph. I am here ready to die. I am not allowed to vindicate my character; and when I am prevented from vindicating myself, let no man dare calumniate me. Let my character and motives repose in obscurity and peace, till other times and other men can do them justice.|
Robert EmmetSpeech on his Trial and Conviction for High Treason. September, 1803.
|Corpus requiescat a malis.|
May his body rest free from evil.
Ennius, quoted by CiceroTusc. I. 44.
|Under this stone, reader, survey|
Dead Sir John Vanbrughs house of clay:
Lie heavy on him, earth! for he
Laid many heavy loads on thee.
Dr. Abel EvansEpitaph on the architect of Blenheim Palace. (Vanbrugh is buried in St. Stephens Church, Walbrook, England.)
|Lie light upon him, earth! tho he|
Laid many a heavy load on thee.
As quoted by SnufflingEpitaphia; Architects. BoxElegies and Epitaphs. VoltaireLetters. (1733). P. 187.
| The body of Benjamin Franklin, Printer, (Like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out and stript of its lettering and gilding), Lies here, food for worms; But the work shall not be lost, for it will (as he believed) appear once more in a new and more elegant edition, revised and corrected by the author.|
Benjamin FranklinEpitaph on Himself. Written in 1728. Revised by himself from an earlier one.
John Davis, in Travels of Four Years and a Half in the United States of America, gives similar epitaph in Latin, said to have been written by An Eton scholar.
|Quand je serai la, je serai sans souci.|
When I shall be there, I shall be without care.
Frederick the Great. His inscription written at the foot of the statue of Flora at Sans Souci, where he wished to be buried. His body lies in the church at Potsdam.
|Here lies Fred,|
Who was alive and is dead.
Had it been his father,
I had much rather.
Had it been his brother,
Still better than another.
Had it been his sister,
No one would have missed her.
Had it been the whole generation,
Still better for the nation.
But since tis only Fred,
Who was alive, and is dead,
Theres no more to be said.
Epitaph to Frederick, Prince of Wales (Father of George III), as given by ThackerayFour Georges. Probably version of a French epigram Colas est morte de maladie, found in Les Epigrammes de Jean Ogier Gombauld. (1658). Several early versions of same. See Notes and Queries. May 3, 1902. P. 345.
Thomas FullerEpitaph written by Himself.
|Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,|
Who wrote like an angel, and talked like poor Poll.
|Here lie together, waiting the Messiah|
The little David and the great Goliath.
Note in Thespian Dict. appended to account of Garrick, whose remains lie close to those of Johnson, in Westminster Abbey.
|Life is a jest, and all things show it,|
I thought so once, but now I know it.
GayMy Own Epitaph.
| Like a worn out type, he is returned to the Founder in the hope of being recast in a better and more perfect mould.|
Epitaph on Peter Gedge. Parish church, St. Mary, Bury St. Edmunds.
|I have expended; I have given; I have kept;|
I have possessed; I do possess; I have lost;
I am punished. What I formerly expended, I have; what I gave away, I have.
Gesta Romanorum. Tale XVI. Found on the golden sarcophagus of a Roman Emperor.
|What we say of a thing that has just come in fashion|
And that which we do with the dead,
Is the name of the honestest man in the nation:
What more of a man can be said?
GoldsmithPunning epitaph on John Newbery, the publisher.
| Qui nullum fere scribendi genus non tetigit; nullum quod tetigit non ornavit.|
Who left nothing of authorship untouched, and touched nothing which he did not adorn.
Goldsmiths Epitaph in Westminster Abbey. Written by Samuel Johnson.
|And many a holy text around she strews|
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
GrayElegy in a Country Churchyard. St. 21.
|Balnea, vina, Venus corrumpunt corpora nostra;|
Sed vitam faciunt baldea, vina, Venus.
Baths, wine and Venus bring decay to our bodies; but baths, wine and Venus make up life.
Epitaph in Gruters Monumenta.
|Beneath these green trees rising to the skies,|
The planter of them, Isaac Greentree, lies;
The time shall come when these green trees shall fall,
And Isaac Greentree rise above them all.
Epitaph at Harrow.
|His foe was folly and his weapon wit.|
Anthony Hope HawkinsInscribed on the bronze tablet placed in memory of Sir William Gilbert on the Victoria Embankment, Aug. 31, 1915. Bronze is by Sir George Frampton.
|Farewell, vain world, Ive had enough of thee,|
And Valiest not what thou Canst say of me;
Thy Smiles I count not, nor thy frowns I fear,
My days are past, my head lies quiet here.
What faults you saw in me take Care to shun,
Look but at home, enough is to be done.
Epitaph over William Harvey in Greasley Churchyard, England. (1756). A travesty of the same is over the tomb of Phillis Robinson, in that churchyard. (1866). See Alfred StapletonThe Churchyard Scribe. P. 95.
|Mans life is like unto a winters day,|
Some break their fast and so depart away,
Others stay dinner then depart full fed;
The longest age but sups and goes to bed.
Oh, reader, then behold and see,
As we are now so must you be.
Bishop HenshawHoræ Succisivæ.
|But heres the sunset of a tedious day.|
These two asleep are; Ill but be undrest,
And so to bed. Pray wish us all good rest.
HerrickEpitaph on Sir Edward Giles.
|Here she lies a pretty bud,|
Lately made of flesh and blood;
Who, as soone fell fast asleep,
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth that lightly covers her.
HerrickUpon a Child that Dyed.
|Under the shadow of a leafy bough|
That leaned toward a singing rivulet,
One pure white stone, whereon, like crown on brow,
The image of the vanished star was set;
And this was graven on the pure white stone
In golden lettersWHILE SHE LIVED SHE SHONE.
Jean IngelowStars Monument. St. 47.
|The hand of him here torpid lies,|
That drew th essential form of grace,
Here closed in death th attentive eyes
That saw the manners in the face.
Samuel JohnsonEpitaph for Hogarth.
|Sleep undisturbed within this peaceful shrine,|
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.
Samuel JohnsonEpitaph on Claude Phillips.
|Underneath this stone doth lie|
As much beauty as could die;
Which in life did harbor give
To more virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault,
Leave it buried in this vault.
Ben JonsonEpigram CXXIV. To Lady Elizabeth L. H.
|Underneath this sable herse|
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sydneyes sister, Pembrokes mother.
Death, ere thou hast slaine another,
Faire and learnd and good as she,
Tyme shall throw a dart at thee.
Attributed to Ben JonsonEpitaph on the Countess of Pembroke. Claimed for Sir Thomas Browne by Sir Egerton Brydges. It is in Lansdowne MS. No. 777, in British Museum. Poems by Browne. Vol. II. P. 342. Ed. by W. C. Hazlitt for the Roxburghe Library.
|Here lies one whose name was writ in water.|
Engraved on Keats tombstone at his own desire. Phrase writ in water in Hakewells Apologie. (1635). P. 127. King Henry VIII. IV. II.
| I conceive disgust at these impertinent and misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your ordinary tombstone.|
|Satire does not look pretty upon a tombstone.|
|I strove with none, for none was worth my strife;|
Nature I loved, and after Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
Walter Savage LandorEpitaph on Himself.
|Emigravit, is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies;|
Dead he is not, but departed,for the artist never dies.
|Here lie I, Martin Elginbrodde:|
Have mercy o my soul, Lord God;
As I wad do, were I Lord God,
And ye were Martin Elginbrodde.
George McDonaldDavid Elginbrod. Ch. XIII.
| The shameless Chloe placed on the tombs of her seven husbands the inscription, The work of Chloe. How could she have expressed herself more plainly?|
MartialEpigrams. Bk. IX. Ep. 15.
| This work, newly revised and improved by its great Author, will reappear in a splendid day.|
Epitaph on Oscar Meader in a church in Berlin.
|Ci gît lenfant gâté du monde quil gâta.|
Here lies the child spoiled by the world which he spoiled.
Baronne de MontolieuEpitaph on Voltaire.
|Requiescat in pace.|
May he rest in peace.
Order of the Mass.
|Beneath this stone old Abraham lies;|
Nobody laughs and nobody cries.
Where he is gone, and how he fares,
Nobody knows and nobody cares.
On the monument of Abraham Newland, principal cashier of the Bank of England. (Died, 1807. His own lines.)
| Jacet ecce Tibullus;|
Vix manet e toto parva quod urna capit.
Here lies Tibullus; of all that he was there scarcely remains enough to fill a small urn.
OvidAmorum. Bk. III. 9, 39.
|Molliter ossa cubent.|
May his bones rest gently.
OvidHeroides. VII. 162.
|In his last binn Sir Peter lies.|
* * * *
He kept at true humours mark
The social flow of pleasures tide:
He never made a brow look dark,
Nor caused a tear, but when he died.
Thos. Love PeacockTo Sir Peter.
|Postquam est mortem aptus Plautus: comdia luget|
Scena deserta, dein risus ludus jocusque
Et numeri innumeri simul omnes collacrumarunt.
Plautus has prepared himself for a life beyond the grave; the comic stage deserted weeps; laughter also and jest and joke; and poetic and prosaic will bewail his loss together.
Epitaph of Plautus, by himself.
|Under this marble, or under this sill,|
Or under this turf, or een what they will,
Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead,
Or any good creature shall lay oer my head,
Lies one who neer card, and still cares not a pin
What they said or may say of the mortal within;
But who, living and dying, serene, still and free,
Trusts in God that as well as he was he shall be.
|Kneller, by Heaven and not a master taught|
Whose art was nature, and whose pictures thought,
* * * * * *
Living great Nature feard he might outvie
Her works; and dying, fears herself may die.
PopeInscription on the monument of Sir Geofrey Kneller in Westminster Abbey. Imitated from the epitaph on Raphael, in the Pantheon at Rome.
|To this sad shrine, whoeer thou art! draw near!|
Here lies the friend most lovd, the son most dear;
Who neer knew joy but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he died.
PopeEpitaph on Harcourt.
|Nihil unquam peccavit, nisi quod mortua est.|
She never did wrong in any way, unless in the fact that she died.
On a wifes tomb at Rome.
|Calmly he looked on either Life, and here|
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear:
From Natures temprate feast rose satisfyd,
Thankd Heaven that he had lived, and that he died.
|Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,|
In action faithful, and in honour clear;
Who broke no promise, served no private end,
Who gained no title, and who lost no friend,
Ennobled by himself, by all approved,
And praised, unenvied, by the muse he loved.
PopeMoral Essays. Epistle V. L. 67. (To Addison.)
|Heralds and statesmen, by your leave,|
Here lies what once was Matthew Prior;
The son of Adam and of Eve;
Can Bourbon or Nassau go higher?
PriorEpitaph. Extempore. (As given in original edition.)
|Johnny Carnegie lais heer|
Descendit of Adam and Eve,
Gif ony cou gang hieher,
Ise willing give him leve.
Epitaph in an old Scottish Churchyard.
| In Fortunam|
Inveni portum spes et fortuna valete
Nil mini vobiscum ludite nunc alios.
Mine havens found; Fortune and Hope, adieu.
Mock others now, for I have done with you.
Inscription on the tomb of Francesco Pucci in the church of St. Onuphrius, (St. Onofrio), Rome. Translation by BurtonAnatomy of Melancholy. Pt. II. Sec. III. Memb. 6. Quoted by him as a saying of Prudentius. Attributed to Janus Pannonius. See Jani PanuoniiOnofrio. Pt. II. Folio 70. Found in Laurentius Schraderns Monumenta Italiæ, Folio Helmæstadii. P. 164. Attributed to Cardinal, La Marck in foot-note to Le Sages Gil Blas.
|Jam portum inveni, Spes et Fortuna valete.|
Nil mihi vobiscum est, ludite nunc alios.
Fortune and Hope farewell! Ive found the port;
Youve done with me: go now, with others sport.
Version of the Greek epigram in the Anthologia. Trans. by Merivale. Latin by Thomas More, in the Progymnasmata prefixed to first ed. of Mores Epigrams. (1520).
|Avete multum, Spesque, Forsque; sum in vado.|
Qui pone sint illudite; haud mea interest.
Version of the Greek epigram in Dr. Wellesleys Anthologia Polyglotta. P. 464. Ed. 1849.
|Speme e Fortuna, addio; che in porto entrai.|
Schernite gli altri; chio vi spregio omai.
Version of the Greek epigram by Luigi Alamanni.
|I came at morntwas spring, I smiled,|
The fields with green were clad;
I walked abroad at noon,and lo!
Twas summer,I was glad;
I sate me down; twas autumn eve,
And I with sadness wept;
I laid me down at night, and then
Twas winter,and I slept.
Mary PyperEpitaph. A Life. Same on a tombstone in Massachusetts. See Newhaven Mag. Dec., 1863.
|The worlds a book, writ by th eternal Art|
Of the great Maker; printed in mans heart;
Tis falsely printed though divinely pennd,
And all the Errata will appear at th end.
|The Worlds a Printing-House, our words, our thoughts,|
Our deeds, are characters of several sizes.
Each Soul is a Compostor, of whose faults
The Levites are Correctors; Heaven Revises.
Death is the common Press, from whence being driven,
Were gatherd, Sheet by Sheet, and bound for Heaven.
|She wasbut room forbids to tell thee what|
Sum all perfection up, and she wasthat.
QuarlesEpitaph on Lady Luchyn.
|Warm summer sun, shine friendly here;|
Warm western wind, blow kindly here;
Green sod above, rest light, rest light
Robert Richardson, in his collection, Willow and Wattle. P. 35.
|Warm summer sun shine kindly here;|
Warm southern wind blow softly here;
Green sod above lie light, lie light
Good night, dear heart, good night, good night.
Richardsons lines on the tombstone of Susie Clemens as altered by Mark Twain (S. L. Clemens).
|Quod expendi habui|
Quod donavi habeo
Quod servavi perdidi.
That I spent that I had
That I gave that I have
That I left that I lost.
Epitaph under an effigy of a priest. T. F. Ravenshaws Antiente Epitaphes. P. 5. Weevers Funeral Monuments. Ed. 1631. P. 581. Pettigrews Chronicles of the Tombs.
|Ecce quod expendi habui, quod donavi habeo,|
quod negavi punior, quod servavi perdidi.
On Tomb of John Killungworth. (1412). In Pitson Church, Bucks, England.
|Lo, all that ever I spent, that sometime had I;|
All that I gave in good intent, that now have I;
That I never gave, nor lent, that now aby I;
That I kept till I went, that lost I.
Trans. of the Latin on the brasses of a priest at St. Albans, and on a brass as late as 1584 at St. Olaves, Hart Street, London.
|It that I gife, I haif,|
It that I len, I craif,
It that I spend, is myue,
It that I leif, I tyne.
On very old stone in Scotland. Hacketts Epitaphs. Vol. I. P. 32. (Ed. 1737).
|Howe: Howe: who is heare:|
I, Robin of Doncaster, and Margaret my feare.
That I spent, that I had;
That I gave, that I have;
That I left, that I lost.
Epitaph of Robert Byrkes, in Doncaster Church. Richard GoughSepulchral Monuments of Great Britain.
|The earthe goeth on the earthe|
Glisteringe like gold;
The earthe goeth to the earthe
Sooner than it wold;
The earthe builds on the earthe
Castles and Towers;
The earthe says to the earthe
All shall be ours.
Epitaph in T. F. Ravenshaws Antiente Epitaphes. (1878). P. 158. Also in The Scotch Haggis. Edinburgh, 1822. For variation of same see MontgomeryChristian Poets. P. 58. 3rd ed. Note states it is by William Billyng, Five Wounds of Christ. From an old MS. in the possession of William Bateman, of Manchester. The epitaph to Archbishop of Canterbury, time of Edward III, is the same. See Weavers Funeral Monuments. (1631). Facsimile discovered in the chapel of the Guild of the Holy Cross, at Stratford. See Fishers Illustrations of the Paintings, etc. (1802). Ed. by J. G. Nichols.
|Earth walks on Earth,|
Glittering in gold;
Earth goes to Earth,
Sooner than it wold;
Earth builds on Earth,
Palaces and towers;
Earth says to Earth,
Soon, all shall be ours.
ScottUnpublished Epigram. In Notes and Queries. May 21, 1853. P. 498.
|Traveller, let your step be light,|
So that sleep these eyes may close,
For poor Scarron, till to-night,
Neer was able een to doze.
ScarronEpitaph written by himself.
|Sit tua terra levis.|
May the earth rest lightly on thee.
SenecaEpigram II. Ad Corsican. MartialEpigram V. 35; IX. 30. 11.
|Good Frend for Jesvs Sake Forbeare,|
To Digg the Dvst Encloased Heare.
Blese be ye Man yt Spares Thes Stones.
And Cvrst be he yt Moves my Bones.
Epitaph on Shakespeares Tombstone at Stratford-on-Avon. (Said to be chosen by him, but not original.)
| After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.|
Hamlet. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 548.
|Either our history shall with full mouth|
Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave,
Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,
Not worshippd with a waxen epitaph.
Henry V. Act I. Sc. 2. L. 230.
|You cannot better be employd, Bassanio,|
Than to live still and write mine epitaph.
Merchant of Venice. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 117.
|On your familys old monument|
Hang mournful epitaphs.
Much Ado About Nothing. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 208.
| And if your love|
Can labour aught in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb
And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night.
Much Ado About Nothing. Act V. Sc. 1. I,. 291.
| Of comfort no man speak:|
Lets talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs.
Richard II. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 144.
|These are two friends whose lives were undivided:|
So let their memory be, now they have glided
Under the grave; let not their bones be parted,
For their two hearts in life were single-hearted.
|He will be weighed again|
At the Great Day,
His rigging refitted,
And his timbers repaired,
And with one broadside
Make his adversary
Strike in his turn.
SmollettPeregrine Pickle. Vol. III. Ch. VII. Epitaph on Commodore Trunnion.
|Let no man write my epitaph; let my grave|
Be uninscribed, and let my memory rest
Till other times are come, and other men,
Who then may do me justice.
Southey. Written after Reading the Speech of Robert Emmet.
|The turf has drank a|
Three of her husbands
Epitaph at Staffordshire.
|Here lies one who meant well, tried a little, failed much.|
|I, whom Apollo sometime visited,|
Or feigned to visit, now, my day being done,
Do slumber wholly, nor shall know at all
The weariness of changes; nor perceive
Immeasurable sands of centuries
Drink up the blanching ink, or the loud sound
Of generations beat the music down.
Stevenson. Epitaph for himself.
|Now when the number of my years|
Is all fulfilled and I
From sedentary life
Shall rouse me up to die,
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.
Stevenson. Poem written, 1879. Probably original of his Requiem.
|Under the wide and starry sky,|
Dig the grave and let me lie;
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies, where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
StevensonRequiem written for himself. Engraved on his tombstone.
|To the down Bow of Death|
His Forte gave way,
All the Graces in sorrow were drownd;
Shall be his glad lay
When DaCapo the Trumpet shall sound.
Epitaph to Samuel Taylor, in Youlgreaves Churchyard, Derbyshire, England.
|Thou third great Canning, stand among our best|
And noblest, now thy long days work hath ceased,
Here silent in our minster of the West
Who wert the voice of England in the East.
TennysonEpitaph on Lord Stratford De Redcliffe.
|Neer to these chambers where the mighty rest,|
Since their foundation came a nobler guest;
Nor eer was to the bowers of bliss conveyed
A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.
Thomas TickellOde on the Death of Addison. Later placed on Addisons tomb in Henry the VII Chapel, Westminster.
|Then haste, kind Death, in pity to my age,|
And clap the Finis to my lifes last page.
May Heavens great Author my foul proof revise,
Cancel the page in which my error lies,
And raise my form above the etherial skies.
* * * * * * * *
The stubborn pressmans form I now may scoff;
Revised, corrected, finally worked off!
C. H. Timberley, ed. Songs of the Press. (1845).
|Mantua me genuit; Calabri rapuere; tenet nunc|
Parthenope. Cecini pascua, rura, duces.
Mantua bore me; the people of Calabria carried me off; Parthenope (Naples) holds me now. I have sung of pastures, of fields, of chieftains.
Vergils Epitaph. Said to be by himself.
|Here in this place sleeps one whom love|
Caused, through great cruelty to fall.
A little scholar, poor enough,
Whom François Villon men did call.
No scrap of land or garden small
He owned. He gave his goods away,
Table and trestles, basketsall;
For Gods sake say for him this Lay.
François Villon. His own Epitaph.
| He directed the stone over his grave to be thus inscribed:|
Hie jacet hujus Sententiæ primus Author:
Disputandi pruritus ecclesiarum scabies.
Nomen alias quære.
Here lies the first author of this sentence; The itch of disputation will prove the scab of the Church. Inquire his name elsewhere.
Isaak WaltonLife of Wotton.
|The poets fate is here in emblem shown,|
He asked for bread, and he received a stone.
Samuel WesleyEpigrams. On Butlers Monument in Westminster Abbey.
|Here lies, in a horizontal position|
The outside case of
Peter Pendulum, watch-maker.
He departed this life wound up
In hopes of being taken in hand by his Maker,
And of being thoroughly cleaned, repaired and set a-going
In the world to come.
C. H. WilsonPolyanthea. Epitaph on a Watch-maker. Transcribed from Aberconway Churchyard.
|O what a monument of glorious worth,|
When in a new edition he comes forth,
Without erratas, may we think hell be
In leaves and covers of eternity!
Benjamin WoodbridgeLines on John Cotton. (1652).
|He first deceasd; she for a little trid|
To live without him, likd it not, and died.
Sir Henry WottonUpon the Death of Sir Albertus Mortons Wife.
|Si monumentum requiris circumspice.|
If you would see his monument look around.
Inscription on the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren in St. Pauls, London. Written by his son. Trans. by RogersItaly. Florence.