Thou now hast the money,—why longer delay?
Thou dark scowling fellow, why lingering stay?
I sit in my chamber, and patiently wait,
And midnight is near, but the bride is still late.
From the churchyard the shuddering breezes arise;—
Ye breezes, O say, has my bride met your eyes?
Pale demons come round me, and hard on me press,
Make curtsies with grinning, and nod their “O yes!”
Quick, tell me the message you’re coming about,
Black villain, in liv’ry of fire trick’d out!
My mistress sends word that she soon will be here;
In a car drawn by dragons she’ll shortly appear.
Dear grey little man, say, what would’st thou to-day?
Dead master of mine, what’s thy business, pray?
He gazes upon me with mute mournful mien,
Shakes his head, turns away, and no longer is seen.
His tail wags the shaggy old dog, and he whines;
All brightly the eye of the black tom-cat shines;
The women are howling with long flowing hair,—
Why sings my old nurse my old cradle-song there?
Old nurse stops at home, to her song to attend,
The eiapopeia is long at an end;
To-day I am keeping my gay wedding feast;
Only watch the arrival of each gallant guest!
Only watch them! Good sirs, how polite is your band!
Ye carry your heads, ’stead of hats, in your hand;
With your clattering bones, and like gallows-birds dress’d,
Why arrive here so late, when the wind is at rest?
The old witch on her broomstick comes galloping on:
Ah, bless me, good mother, I’m really thy son.
The mouth in her pale face beginning to twitch,
“For ever, amen,” soon replies the old witch.
Twelve wither’d musicians come creeping along,
The limping blind fiddler is seen in the throng
Jackpudding dress’d out in his motley array,
On the gravedigger’s back is grimacing away.
With dancing twelve nuns from the convent advance,
The leering old procuress leading the dance;
Twelve merry young priests follow close in their train,
And sing their lewd songs in a church-going strain.