"Look out, my Squire, Look nigher and nigher,
Look out for the corpse of a bare-footed Friar!
And pick up the arms and the legs of the dead,
And pick up his body and pick up his head!"

FYTTE III

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
Landon Hill 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.--
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,