Nor has his death the world deceiv'd than his wondrous life surprise d; if he like a madman liv'd least he like a wise one dy'd.

Posterity will never survey a nobler grave than this: here lie the bones of Castlereagh: stop, traveler, and piss.

And were an epitaph to be my story I'd have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world.

In lapidary inscriptions a man is not upon oath.