"And still at night, by fair moonlight, when all were lock'd in sleep, She'd listen at the Canon's door,—she'd through the keyhole peep— I know not what she heard or saw, but fury filled her eye— —She bought some nasty Doctor's-stuff, and she put it in a pie!
"It was a glorious summer's-eve—with beams of rosy red The Sun went down—all Nature smiled—but Nelly shook her head! Full softly to the balmy breeze rang out the Vesper bell— —Upon the Canon's startled ear it sounded like a knell!
"'Now here's to thee, mine Uncle! a health I drink to thee! Now pledge me back in Sherris sack, or a cup of Malvoisie!'— The Canon sigh'd—but rousing, cried, 'I answer to thy call, And a Warden-pie's a dainty dish to mortify withal!'
"'Tis early dawn—the matin chime rings out for morning pray'r— And Prior and Friar is in his stall—the Canon is not there! Nor in the small Refect'ry hall, nor cloister'd walk is he— All wonder—and the Sacristan says, 'Lauk-a-daisey-me!'
"They've searched the aisles and Baptistry—they've search'd above—around— The 'Sermon House'—the 'Audit Room'—the Canon is not found. They only find that pretty Cook concocting a ragout, They ask her where her master is—but Nelly looks askew!
"They call for crow-bars—'jemmies' is the modern name they bear— They burst through lock, and bolt, and bar—but what a sight is there!— The Canon's head lies on the bed—his Niece lies on the floor! —They are as dead as any nail that is in any door!
"The livid spot is on his breast, the spot is on his back! His portly form, no longer warm with life, is swoln and black!— The livid spot is on her cheek,—it's on her neck of snow, And the Prior sighs, and sadly cries, 'Well!—here's a pretty Go!'
"All at the silent hour of night a bell is heard to toll, A knell is rung, a requiem's sung as for a sinful soul, And there's a grave within the Nave, it's dark, and deep, and wide, And they bury there a Lady fair, and a Canon by her side!