Written in Ink
Written in Ink
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To Halloween (2/2)

Illustration for article titled To Halloween (2/2)

Stranger rejoice:

This tomb holds Arabella Young

Who on May 5, 1837

Began to hold her tongue

Seven wives I've buried

With as many

A fervent prayer:

If we all should meet

In heaven

Won't there be trouble there?

Here lies my wife

In earthy mould

Who when she lived

Did naught but scold:

Good friends go softly

In your walking

Lest she should wake

And rise up talking

Mary Weary, housewife

Dear friends I am going

Where washing ain't done

Or cooking or sewing:

Don't mourn for me now

Or weep for me never:

For I go to do nothing

Forever and ever!

Beneath these stones

Do lie

Back to back

My wife and I:

When the last loud trump

Shall blow,

If she gets up

I'll just lie low

Sacred to the remains of Jonathan Thompson

A pious Christian and

Affectionate husband

Erected by the Vigilante Committee in Culver city.

Here lies the body of Arkansaw Jim:

We made the mistake

But the joke's on him

Stranger call this not

A place of gloom:

To me it is a pleasant spot

My husband's tomb

If there is a future world

My lot will not be bliss:

But if there is no other

I've made the most of this

Grim death

To please his palate

Has taken my lettice

To put in his sallat

Here lies the bones of Joseph Jones

When from the tomb

To meet his doom

He rises amidst sinners:

Take him to dwell

In heaven or hell

Whichever serves big dinners

Here lies my wife

A slattern and shrew:

If I said I missed her

I should lie here , too!

For a brewer in Islington

Poor John Scott

Lies buried here

Though once he was

Both 'ale and stout:

Now death has drawn

His bitter bier

In a better world

He hops about

He had some faults

And many merits

He died of drinking

Ardent spirits

To all my friends

I bid adieu

A more sudden death

You never knew:

As I was leading

The mare to drink

She kicked and killed me

Quicker'n a wink

Owen Moore:

Gone away

Owin' more

Than he could pay

Scared to the memory

Of Anthony Drake

Who died for peace

And dear quietness' sake:

His wife was forever

Scoldin' and scoffin'

He sought repose

In a $12 coffin

Here lies pecos Bill

He always lied

And always will:

He once lied loud

He now lies still


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