Epitaphs

[aeolium]

Aboutwhom was it said " His sins were scarlet but his books were read".? I always liked that one.

And another Belloc one:

Pale Ebenezer thought it wrong to fight,
But Roaring Bill (who killed him) thought it right.

[vinteuil]

Belloc a marvellous source for such.
And perhaps in tune with the Zeitgeist...



J

stands for James, who thought it immaterial
To pay his taxes, Local or Imperial.
In vain the Mother wept, the Wife implored,
James only yawned as though a trifle bored.

The Tax Collector called again, but he
Was met with Persiflage and Repartee.
When James was hauled before the learned Judge,
Who lectured him, he loudly whispered, "Fudge!"
The Judge was startled from his usual calm,

He
struck the desk before him with his palm,
And roared in tones to make the boldest quail,

"J stands for James, it also stands for jail."
And therefore, on a dark and dreadful day,
Policemen came and took him all away.

Moral.

The fate of James is typical, and shows
How little mercy people can expect
Who will not pay their taxes; (saving those
To which they conscientiously object.)

[Tevot]

From:- http://www.kipling.org.uk/poems_epitaphs.htm

(I must admit I chickened out of posting the epitaph from Tony Harrison's V ;-)

A DEAD STATESMAN

I could not dig: I dared not rob:
Therefore I lied to please the mob.
Now all my lies are proved untrue
And I must face the men I slew.
What tale shall serve me here among
Mine angry and defrauded young?

[cloughie]

EPITAPH by KING CRIMSON from my avatar album

The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams.
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams.
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams,
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
When silence drowns the screams.

Confusion will be my epitaph.
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back
And laugh.
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying,
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying.

Between the iron gates of fate,
The seeds of time were sown,
And watered by the deeds of those
Who know and who are known;
Knowledge is a deadly friend
When no one sets the rules.
The fate of all mankind I see
Is in the hands of fools.

Confusion will be my epitaph.
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back
And laugh.
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying,
Yes I fear tomorrow I'll be crying.

I also remember from a book I once had which was I think called Grave Humour, a gravestone which bore the words 'Thorpe's Corpse'.

[LeMartinPecheur]

From:- http://www.kipling.org.uk/poems_epitaphs.htm

(I must admit I chickened out of posting the epitaph from Tony Harrison's V ;-)

A DEAD STATESMAN

I could not dig: I dared not rob:
Therefore I lied to please the mob.
Now all my lies are proved untrue
And I must face the men I slew.
What tale shall serve me here among
Mine angry and defrauded young?

This is from Kipling's Epitaphs of the War - 1914-18. An absolutely chilling work, presumably written after RK lost his only son in action, which it might be good if we all learned by heart at an early age

Further samples:

A SERVANT
We were together since the War began,
He was my servant - and the better man.

A SON
My son was killed while laughing at some jest. I would I knew
What it was, and it might serve me in a time when jests are few.

Kipling didn't of course become an instant pacifist (that might well of course have made the loss of his son even more unbearable) but the balance held is delicate, often a matter of what isn't said, e.g.

THE COWARD
I could not look on Death, which being known,
Men led me to him, blindfold and alone.

And perhaps my favourite, if that's the right word,

COMMON FORM
If any question why we died,
Tell them, because our fathers lied.

Some things, many things, don't change

PS The last one is made even more grim if we imagine Kipling's feelings about any encouragement he'd given his son to join up, particularly when his sight was so poor that almost certainly strings had been pulled (lies told?) to get him a commission in the Guards

[mercia]

One I remember well is the epitaph for the trumpeter at the first performance of Handel's Messiah.

would you care to share it with us ?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here lie I by the chancel door;
They put me here because I was poor.
The further in, the more you pay,
But here I lie as snug as they

[jean]

I have a couple of books of these epitaphs somewhere in tombstone-shaped paperbacks edited by the wonderful Fritz Spiegl.

I have A Small Book of Grave Humour - I'm not sure I knew about the second. I wish I could believe that all of them really were in graveyards somewhere - but he doesn't identify them very well, does he?

My favourite actually-existing epitaph is the one in Ely cathedral cloisters:

[vinteuil]

Jean - that one is lovely!

another favourite of mine for its worldliness is the one in York Minster:

APRIL XXIVV MDCCCXII.
DIED
AT HER HOUSE IN CHARLES STREET,
NEAR BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON,
WHERE SHE RESIDED ALTERNATLY WITH
HER SEAT AT GREAT BOOKHAM IN SURREY,
FOR A PERIOD OF ABOVE THIRTY-FIVE YEARS
HAPPY AND RESPECTED
AFTER AN ILLNESS OF THREE WEEKS,
AT MIDNIGHT
OF THE TWENTY-FOURTH OF APRIL,
MDCCCXII,
IN THE PRESENCE OF ALL HER FIVE CHILDREN,
AND OF THREE OF HER OLD AND FAITHFUL ATTENDANTS,
IN THE SEVENTY-THIRD YEAR OF HER AGE,
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE,
LORA
BURTON DAWNAY
VISCOUNTESS DOWNE,
WIDOW OF JOHN DAWNAY, FOURTH VISCOUNTESS DOWNE,
MOTHER OF THE FIFTH VISCOUNT AND OTHER CHILDREN,
AND ONLY CHILD AND HEIR OF WILLIAM BURTON, ESQUIRE
OF ASHWELL, RUTLAND
BY HIS WIFE ELIZABETH PITT, DAUGHTER OF GEORGE PITT
OF STRATHFIELDSAY,
BY HIS SECOND WIFE, LORA GREY OF KINGSTON, DORSET.
FOR HER CHARACTER AND OTHER PARTICULARS
SEE THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE FOR MAY MDCCCXII,
FROM WHICH THE FOLLOWING IS AN EXTRACT:
A REAL UNPRETENDING AND ALMOST UNCONSCIOUS GOOD SENSE
AND A FIRM DESIRE TO ACT RIGHT UPON ALL OCCASIONS
TO THE BEST OF HER JUDGEMENT,
WERE HER MOST DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS.
ACTIVITY OF MIND AND BODY, SOUND HEALTH, CHEERFUL MANNERS,
THE OPEN CONFIDENCE OF AN HONEST MIND,
THE LIVELY SERENITY OF AN EASY CONSCIENCE,
WITH A BENEVOLENT DISPOSITION
AND HEREDITARY PERSONAL GRACES BOTH OF FORM AND FACE,
WHICH EVEN IN AGE HAD NOT DISAPPEARED,
COMPLETE HER PICTURE.
ONE THAT ON EVERYDAY YOU MAY NOT MEET,
KIND, HANDSOME, HONEST, CHEERFUL AND DISCREET;
AS DAUGHTER, WIFE, AND MOTHER JUSTLY LOVED,
BY ALL WHO KNEW, RESPECTED AND APPROVED.
GOOD SENSE, GOOD MANNERS, OPEN AND SINCERE,
AND GENEROUS VIRTUE MARK'D HER LONG CAREER
SUPERIOR IN HER CHARACTER TO MOST.
SHE LIVED WITH OTHERS WITHOUT PRIDE OR BOAST:
WITH BEST PRETENSIONS TOOK THE HUMBLEST PART,
AND SHEW'D HER SCHOOLING HAD BEEN OF THE HEART.
NUNC VICESIMUS ANNUS ATQUE NONUS
HOC A TEMPORE LABITUR SILENTER.
VIVIT SCENA, TAMEN, FIGURA VIVIT,
ET VIVAX MANET INSEPULTA VIRTUS.

Buried at Snaith in this county, Hon. MD.Langley 3rd son, placed this tablet, 1841 aet 64

[LeMartinPecheur]

This one, from Winchester Cathedral (outside in the graveyard) might be better on the Beer thread:

In memory of Thomas Thatcher
A grenadier of the Ninth Regiment of Hants Militia,
who died of a violent fever contracted by drinking small beer when hot,
the 12th of May, 1769, aged 26 years...

Here sleeps in peace a Hampshire Grenadier
Who caught his death by drinking cold small beer.
Soldiers, be wise by his untimely fall,
And when ye're hot, drink strong or none at all.

[LeMartinPecheur]

My favourite actually-existing epitaph is the one in Ely cathedral cloisters:

This reminds me rather of the American 'Holy Roller' song called Heavenly Aeroplane (recorded by the Watersons).
A sample from the lyrics:

Oh, one of these days around 12 o'clock
The whole wide world will reel and rock
The sinner will tremble and cry with pain
And the Lord will come in his aeroplane.

(Chorus)
Oh, you thirsty of every tribe
Get your ticket for an aeroplane ride
Jesus our Saviour is coming to reign
And take you to glory in his aeroplane.


Somehow, railways seem a much better metaphor, far more godly and spiritual...

[Ferretfancy]

Here's one to chill --

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets.
When he laughed respectable senators burst with laughter
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

WH Auden

[EdgeleyRob]

Here lies Ben, whose life was full,
Until he tried to milk a bull.