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Hath neither hammer nor drum, Methinks I can hear Living skeletons come. The cloister re-echoes the call, And it frightens the lizard, And, like an old hen, the wall Cries "cluck! cluck! back to my gizzard; "'Tis warm, though it's stony, "My chickens so bony." So come let us hide, each with his bride, For the wicked are coming who have not yet died. Back Home |