Here lies the body of John Cole,
His master loved him like his soul;
He could rake hay—none could rake faster,
Except that raking dog, his master.
Mr. Langford, Auctioneer.
So, so, Master Langford, the hammer of Death
Hath knock’d out your brains, and deprived you of breath;
’Tis but tit for tat, he who puts up the town,
By Devil or Death must at last be knock’d down.
On a man named Stone.
Jerusalem’s curse was not fulfilled in me,
For here a stone upon a Stone you see.
On Thomas Day.
Here lies Thomas Day,
Lately removed from over the way.
Epitaph by Burns.
(On a man choked by a piece of bread!)
Here I lie, killed by a crumb,
That wouldn’t go down, nor wouldn’t up come.