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 Diet, 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.
Gay—My 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. Edmund's.
| seealso = (See also Capen)
| topic = Epitaph
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = 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.
| seealso = (See also Ravenshaw)
| topic = Epitaph
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>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?
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.
Goldsmith's Epitaph in Westminster Abbey.
Written by Samuel Johnson.
| seealso = (See also Fenelon under Eloquence)
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic = Epitaph
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 5
| text = And many a holy text around she strews
That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Gray—Elegy 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 Gkuter's 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 Hawkins—Inscribed 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, I've had enough of thee,
And Valies't not what thou Can'st 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 W tt.t.ta m Harvey in Greasley
Churchyard, England. (1756) A travesty
of the same is over the tomb of Phillis
Roblnson, in that churchyard. (1866)
See Alfred Stapleton—The Churchyard
Scribe. P. 95.
| seealso = (See also Pucci)
| topic = Epitaph
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Man's life is like unto a winter's 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 Henshaw—Horce Succiswce.
But here's the sunset of a tedious day.
These two asleep are; I'll but be undrest,
And so to bed. Pray wish us all good rest.
Heerick—Epitaph 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.
| author = Herrick
| work = Upon 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 letters—"While she lived she
SHONE."
Jean Ingelow—Star's 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.
| author = Samuel Johnson
| work = Epitaph for Hogarth.
Sleep undisturbed within this peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.
| author = Samuel Johnson
| work = Epitaph 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 Jonson—Epigram CXXIV. To Lady
Elizabeth L. II.
Underneath this sable herse
Lies the subject of all verse,—
Sydneye's sister, Pembroke's mother.
Death, ere thou hast slaine another,
Faire and learn'd and good as she,
Tyme shall throw a dart at thee.
