The Home Book of Verse Volume Iv Part 42

George Macdonald [1824-1905]

Who killed Kildare? Who dared Kildare to kill?

Death killed Kildare--who dare kill whom he will.

Jonathan Swift [1667-1745]

With death doomed to grapple, Beneath the cold slab he Who lied in the chapel Now lies in the abbey.

Byron's epitaph for Pitt

When doctrines meet with general approbation, It is not heresy, but reformation.

David Garrick [1717-1779]

Treason doth never prosper; what's the reason?

Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason.

John Harington [1561-1612]

G.o.d bless the King--I mean the faith's defender!

G.o.d bless (no harm in blessing!) the Pretender!

But who pretender is, or who is King-- G.o.d bless us all!--that's quite another thing.

John Byrom [1692-1763]

'Tis highly rational, we can't dispute, The Love, being naked, should promote a suit: But doth not oddity to him attach Whose fire's so oft extinguished by a match?

Richard Garnett [1835-1906]

"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life, There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake.-- It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife."-- Why, so it is, father,--whose wife shall I take?"

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

When Eve upon the first of men The apple pressed with specious cant, O, what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adam-ant!

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

Whilst Adam slept, Eve from his side arose: Strange! his first sleep should be his last repose!

Unknown

"What? rise again with all one's bones,"

Quoth Giles, "I hope you fib: I trusted, when I went to Heaven, To go without my rib.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]

Here lies my wife: here let her lie!

Now she's at rest, and so am I.

John Dryden [1631-1700]

After such years of dissension and strife, Some wonder that Peter should weep for his wife; But his tears on her grave are nothing surprising,-- He's laying her dust, for fear of its rising.

Thomas Hood [1799-1845]

WRITTEN ON A LOOKING-GLa.s.s

I change, and so do women too; But I reflect, which women never do.

Unknown

AN EPITAPH

A lovely young lady I mourn in my rhymes: She was pleasant, good-natured, and civil sometimes.

Her figure was good: she had very fine eyes, And her talk was a mixture of foolish and wise.

Her adorers were many, and one of them said, "She waltzed rather well! It's a pity she's dead!"

George John Cayley [? ]