Under this sod, and under these trees,
Lieth the body of Samuel Pease;
He is not in this hole, but only his pod,
He shelled out his soul and went up to God.

~ an old American epitaph

* * * * * *

Here I at length repose,
My spirit now at aise is ;
With the tips of my toes
And the point of my nose
Turned up to the roots of the daisies.

~ Teague O’Brian (Ballyporen, Ireland)

* * * * * *

Tread softly mortals o’er the bones
Of this world’s wonder, Captain Jones,
Who told his glorious deeds to many
Yet never was believed by any.
Posterity let this suffice
He swore all’s true, yet here he lies.

~ epitaph of John Bidwell



See:
Arthur Wentworth Eaton, Funny Epitaphs, Boston: The Mutual Book Company, 1900, pp. 7, 8, 13

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