Ingoldsby Abbey is fair to see, It hath manors a dozen, and royalties three, With right of free-warren (whatever that be); Rich pastures in front, and green woods in the rear, All in full leaf at the right time of year; About Christmas or so, they fall into the sear, And the prospect, of course, becomes rather more drear: But it's really delightful in spring-time,--and near The great gate Father Thames rolls sun-bright and clear. Cobham woods to the right,--on the opposite shore Laindon Hills in the distance, ten miles off or more; Then you've Milton and Gravesend behind,--and before You can see almost all the way down to the Nore.[33] So charming a spot, It's rarely one's lot To see, and when seen it's as rarely forgot. Yes, Ingoldsby Abbey is fair to see, And its Monks and its Nuns are fifty and three, And there they all stand each in their degree, Drawn up in the front of their sacred abode, Two by two, in their regular mode, While a funeral comes down the Rochester road. Palmers twelve, from a foreign strand, Cockle in hat, and staff in hand, Come marching in pairs, a holy band! Little boys twelve, dressed all in white, Each with his brazen censer bright, And singing away with all their might, Follow the Palmers--a goodly sight; Next high in air Twelve Yeomen bear On their sturdy necks, with a good deal of care, A patent sarcophagus firmly rear'd, Of Spanish mahogany (not veneer'd), And behind walks a Knight with a very long beard. Close by his side Is a Friar, supplied With a stout cat o' ninetails of tough cow-hide, While all sorts of queer men Bring up the rear--Men- -at-arms, Nigger captives, and Bow-men, and Spear-men. It boots not to tell What you'll guess very well, How some sang the _requiem_, some toll'd the bell; Suffice it to say, 'Twas on Candlemas-day The procession I speak about reached the _Sacellum_; And in lieu of a supper The Knight on his crupper Received the first taste of the Father's _flagellum_;-- That, as chronicles tell, He continued to dwell All the rest of his days in the Abbey he'd founded, By the pious of both sexes ever surrounded, And, partaking the fare of the Monks and the Nuns, Ate the cabbage alone, without touching the buns; --That year after year, having run round the _Quad_ With his back, as enjoin'd him, exposed to the rod, Having not only kiss'd it, but bless'd it, and thank'd it, he Died, as all thought, in the odour of sanctity, When,--strange to relate! and you'll hardly believe What I'm going to tell you,--next Candlemas Eve The Monks and the Nuns in the dead of the night Tumble, all of them, out of their beds in affright, Alarm'd by the bawls, And the calls, and the squalls Of some one who seem'd running all round the walls!