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　　THE THREE GRAVES

　　(1820)

　　Close by the ever-burning brimstone beds

　　Where Bedloe, Oates and Judas, hide their heads,

　　I saw great Satan like a Sexton stand

　　With his intolerable spade in hand,

　　Digging three graves. Of coffin shape they were,

　　For those who, coffinless, must enter there

　　With unblest rites. The shrouds were of that cloth

　　Which Clotho weaveth in her blackest wrath:

　　The dismal tinct oppress'd the eye, that dwelt

　　Upon it long, like darkness to be felt.

　　The pillows to these baleful beds were toads,

　　Large, living, livid, melancholy loads,

　　Whose softness shock'd. Worms of all monstrous size

　　Crawl'd round; and one, upcoil'd, which never dies.

　　A doleful bell, inculcating despair,

　　Was always ringing in the heavy air.

　　And all about the detestable pit

　　Strange headless ghosts, and quarter'd forms, did flit;

　　Rivers of blood, from living traitors spilt,

　　By treachery stung from poverty to guilt.

　　I ask'd the fiend, for whom these rites were meant?

　　"These graves," "h he, "when life's brief oil is spent,

　　When the dark night comes, and they're sinking bedwards,

　　—I mean for Castles, Oliver, and Edwards." The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 4