Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
I conceive disgust at these impertinent and
misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your
ordinary tombstone.
Lamb.
Satire does not look pretty upon a tombstone.
Lamb.
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 Landor—Epitaph on Himself.
Emigravit, is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies;
Dead he is not, but departed,—for the artist never dies.
| author = Longfellow
| work = Nuremberg.
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 McDonald—David 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?
Martial—Epigrams. Bk. IX. Ep. 15.
This work, newly revised and improved by its
great Author, will reappear in a splendid day.
Epitaph on Oscar Header in a church in
Berlin -
| seealso = (See also Capen)
| topic = Epitaph
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 9
| text = <poem>Ci gtt l'enfant gate 1 du monde qu'il gata.
Here lies the child spoiled by the world
which he spoiled.
Baronne de Montolieu—Epitaph 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 Nbwland,
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.
Ovid—Amorum. Bk. III. 9, 39.
Molliter ossa cubent.
May his bones rest gently.
Ovny—Heroides. VII. 162.
| seealso = (See also Beaumont)
| topic = Epitaph
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 14
| text = <poem>"In his last binn Sir Peter lies.
- * * *
He kept at true humour's mark
The social flow of pleasure's tide:
He never made a brow look dark,
Nor caused a tear, but when he died.
Thos. Love Peacock—To Sir Peter.
| seealso = (See also Pope, also Beranger under Rot)
Postquam est mortem aptus Plautus: comoedia 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 e'en what they will,
Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead,
Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head,
lies one who ne'er car'd, 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 fear'd he might outvie
Her works; and dying, fears herself may die.
| author = Pope
| work = Inscription on the monument of Sra
Geofret Kneller in Westminster Abbey.
Imitated from the epitaph on Raphael, in
the Pantheon at Rome.
To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art! draw near!
Here lies the friend most lov'd, the son most
dear;
Who ne'er knew joy but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he died.
| author = Pope
| work = Epitaph on Harcourt.
| seealso = (See also Peacock)
| topic = Epitaph
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 19
| text = <poem>Nihil unquam peccavit, nisi quod mortua est.
She never did wrong in any way, unless in
the fact that she died.
On a wife's tomb at Rome.
Calmly he looked on either Life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear:
Prom Nature's temp'rate feast rose satisfy'd,
Thank'd Heaven that he had lived, and that he died.
