“Stint—stint thy beastly song now!” cried Will, pale of cheek. But Jocelyn sang the louder:
“Sing a song of dying groans,
Sing a song of cries and moans,
Sing a song of dead men's bones,
That shall rest,
All unblest,
To rot and rot,
Remembered not,
For dogs to gnaw
And battle for,
Sing hey for the dead rogue's bones.”
“Abate—ha—abate thy fiendish rant!” cried Rick, glancing fearfully over shoulder.
“Aye, Fool—beseech thee! Fair flesh may not abide it!” cried Gurth, shivering, while Robin grinned no more and the fearful youth leaned wide-eyed to behold the singer, this strange, scarred face beneath its battered cock's-comb, these joyous eyes, these smiling lips as Jocelyn continued:
“Now ends my song with ghosts forlorn,
Three gibbering ghosts that mope and mourn,
Then shrieking, flee at breath of dawn,
Where creatures fell
In torment dwell,
Blind things and foul,
That creep and howl,
That rend and bite
And claw and fight.
Where fires red-hot
Consume them not,
And they in anguish
Writhe and languish
And groan in pain
For night again.
Sing hey for pale ghosts forlorn.”
Now when the song was ended, the three looked dismally on one another and, bethinking them of their cruel end, they groaned and sighed lamentably:
My daughter GILLIAN interposeth:
GILL: Father, I like that song, it's fine;
But let me ask about this line:
“Blind things and foul,
That creep and howl.”
Now tell me, please, if you don't mind,
Why were the little horrors blind?
MYSELF: The beastly things, as I surmise,
Had scratched out one another's eyes.
GILL:
I suppose this place where creatures fell
In torments dwell is meant for—
MYSELF:
Well,
I think, my Gill, the place you've guessed,
So let me get on with our Geste.
... they groaned and sighed lamentably—
My daughter GILLIAN interjecteth: