Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

NORFOLK’S EPITAPHS is not a book about Norfolk but a collection of ‘Curious Epitaphs’ made by Horatio Edward Norfolk in 1861. Epitaphs, and In Memoriam columns of newspapers, have long shown that poetry is a Useful Art. Readers might like to check if any of Horatio’s selection are still in place.

WOOD DITTON

Here lies my corpse, who was the man
That loved a sop in the dripping pan;
But now, believe me, I am dead
See here the pan stands at my head
Still for the sops till the last I cried,
But could not eat and so I died.
My neighbours, perhaps they will laugh
When they do read my epitaph.

ST. AGNES

Here lies the body of Joan Carthew,
Born at St Columb, died at St Cue,
Children she had five,
Three are dead, and two alive,
Those that are dead chusing rather
To die with their Mother, than live with their Father.

DORCHESTER

Frank from his Betty, snatch’d by fate,
Shows how uncertain is our state;
He smiled at morn, at noon lay dead
Flung from a horse that kicked his head,
But tho he’s gone, from tears refrain,
At judgement he’ll get up again.

CHIGWELL

This disease you ne’er heard tell on
I died of eating too much melon;
Be careful, then, all you that feed - I
Suffered because I was too greedy.

FOLKESTONE

Sixteen years a Maiden,
One twelve Months a Wife,
One half hour a Mother,
And then I lost my Life.

GREAT MALVERN

Pain was my portion, physic was my food,
Grones my devotion - drugs done me no good.
Christ was my physician - he knowed what was best,
He took me to himself, and put me here at rest.

BARWICK-IN-ELMET

Here lies, retired from busy scenes
A first lieutenant of marines,
Who lately lived in gay content
On board the brave ship Diligent.
Now stripped of all his warlike show,
And laid in box of elm below,
Confined in earth in narrow borders
He rises not till further orders.