Chapter 75 No.75

Beati, beati, mortui!

From the convent on the sea,

One mile off, or scarce so nigh,

Swells the dirge as clear and high

As if that, over brake and lea,

Bodily the wind did carry

The great altar of Saint Mary,

And the fifty tapers burning o'er it,

And the lady Abbess dead before it,

And the chanting nuns whom yesterweek