Epitaph game
Posted: Mon Oct 25, 2010 1:59 pm
This game was popular during the Victorian period. Basically, it's just a matter of making up fake epitaphs for people.
Here's some I did a while back.
Poetic Epitaphs
By P. J. McNamara
Here lies William Blake
after drowning in the lake.
Here lies Elizabeth Barrett Browning
who's fabulous dive ended with her drowning.
Here lies Robert Burns
who now in his grave turns.
Here lies Lord Byron
who's head met with an iron.
Here lies Lewis Carroll
after a time of great peril.
Here lies Edward Estlin Cummings
who thought he had sprouted a pair of wings.
Here lies Emily Dickenson
when illness left her a stricken one.
Here lies Thomas Stearns Elliot
after meeting with a bullet.
Here lies Robert Frost
after winter storms sent him lost.
Here lies Thomas Hardy
after a very wild party.
Once lived a man called John Keats
but now he lies beneath our feet.
Here lies Rudyard Kipling
after a lion gave him a little nibbling.
Here lies Thomas Moore
after a haircut left him sore.
Here lies Edwin Muir
who's rest we can now assure.
Here lies Edgar Allen Poe
after death left him nowhere else to go.
Here lies Ezra Pound
after all her body was found.
Here lies Edward John Pratt
after the pavement left him flat.
Here lies Sir Walter Scott
buried here after he was shot.
Here lies William Shakespeare
who felt something crawling in his ear.
Here lies Percy Bysshe Shelley
who may be getting a little smelly.
Here lies Dylan Thomas
who met the sharp end of a cutlass.
Here lies William Wordsworth
after a night of too much mirth.
Here lies William Butler Yeats
after one of his heroic feats.
Here's some I did a while back.
Poetic Epitaphs
By P. J. McNamara
Here lies William Blake
after drowning in the lake.
Here lies Elizabeth Barrett Browning
who's fabulous dive ended with her drowning.
Here lies Robert Burns
who now in his grave turns.
Here lies Lord Byron
who's head met with an iron.
Here lies Lewis Carroll
after a time of great peril.
Here lies Edward Estlin Cummings
who thought he had sprouted a pair of wings.
Here lies Emily Dickenson
when illness left her a stricken one.
Here lies Thomas Stearns Elliot
after meeting with a bullet.
Here lies Robert Frost
after winter storms sent him lost.
Here lies Thomas Hardy
after a very wild party.
Once lived a man called John Keats
but now he lies beneath our feet.
Here lies Rudyard Kipling
after a lion gave him a little nibbling.
Here lies Thomas Moore
after a haircut left him sore.
Here lies Edwin Muir
who's rest we can now assure.
Here lies Edgar Allen Poe
after death left him nowhere else to go.
Here lies Ezra Pound
after all her body was found.
Here lies Edward John Pratt
after the pavement left him flat.
Here lies Sir Walter Scott
buried here after he was shot.
Here lies William Shakespeare
who felt something crawling in his ear.
Here lies Percy Bysshe Shelley
who may be getting a little smelly.
Here lies Dylan Thomas
who met the sharp end of a cutlass.
Here lies William Wordsworth
after a night of too much mirth.
Here lies William Butler Yeats
after one of his heroic feats.