Would you your tender offspring rear With minds well form'd, devoid of fear, Ne'er let the nurse with idle tale Of Ghost their infant ears assail, Or Bug-a-boo! Or Chimney-sweep! To terrify them into sleep. Thus, when matur'd by rip'ning age, And brought upon the world's great stage, No midnight horrors vex the soul Of howling dog, or hooting owl! But on they move, with manly tread, Across the mansions of the dead; Or pass the ruin'd tower, where Tradition says 'Goblins appear. Not so the hapless wight, whose mind Is in the nursery confin'd, Who bears about him, as a curse, The strong impressions made by Nurse; He sees the flaming cinder fly From out the grate, then with a sigh Exclaims, "A coffin—I shall die! And see, a winding sheet does glide Adown the candle's gutt'ring side!" Thus does conceit o'er sense prevail, Which brings me to the following tale:
Near fam'd St Giles' tow'ring fane, In the close windings of a lane, And, snug retreat from public eye! In the next story to the sky, Two Taylors lodg'd in the same bed, One Mayo nam'd—the other Ned: One winter evening as they sat With ale and pipe in friendly chat, Quoth Mayo, "Ned, you are my friend, Upon whose faith I can depend; Know, then, my means are in such plight, I must be off before 'tis light; To sea my course I mean to shape, But let not this your lips escape, And now and then I'll write you, Ned, If not, you may suppose me dead." Th' astonished taylor sees his friend Quick down the garret stairs descend, And hears these awful words with dread, "Farewell—I'm yours, alive or dead!"— "And yet, why need I feel alarm? I never did poor Mayo harm," Says Ned; "and, should his ghost appear, I'll speak to it; why should I fear?"
'Twas at that drear and awful hour When Ghosts and Goblins shew their power, The clock struck one, when thoughtful Ned Lay restless tumbling in his bed. "Who knows (quoth he) poor Mayo's doom? He may be in a wat'ry tomb, Or 'midst the horrors of a wreck, Or wounded bleeding on the deck. Alas! Why did he tempt the main? I ne'er shall see my friend again!" At this he hears a mournful sound Proceeding as from under ground, Repeat with hollow voice and slow These words—"Mayo, mayo, mayo!" With hair erect, and staring eyes, Poor trembling Ned, in wild surprize, The bed-clothes o'er him nimbly drew; Then bawls, "In God's name, who are you? If you're my late much valu'd friend And met with an untimely end, You know I never did you harm. Then why my spirits thus alarm? If to discover hidden treasure, I trembling wait your awful leisure! Or be your business what it may, I follow—pray you lead the way; And as your form you will not show, Pray let me hear your voice!"—"Mayo!" In mournful sounds he hears once more, And thinks them near his garret door; Then gently stepping from his bed, And peeping round, o'erwhelm'd with dread! Behind the door, low couch'd he spies A huge black cat, with saucer eyes! And now his heart no longer quails When thus Grimalkin he assails: "What devil put it in thy head To take thy station near my bed? I'll give thee something in a trice, Not quite so good as catching mice! Something not quite so sweet as amber!" Then thrusts him in the Pot de Chambre; Saying, "You've been a Ghost to me. You're therefore laid in the Red Sea!"