The Legend of Nettleford.
A ghost story.
Being a full, true, and faithful account of a dread and fearful apparition, which for a length of time served to horrify and "flight from its propriety," that otherwise very quiet and peaceful village; together with a correct and detailed narrative of the startling and truly appalling consequences which grew out of, and were attendant upon, the wild and reckless daring of one Anthony Crump, of that ilk, the which ill-advised temerity, and ungovernable spirit of adventure, he (the said Anthony) still lives bitterly to deplore.
The village of Nettleford long hath been know
As haying a fine Norman church of its own,
And a castle in ruins, though some folks declare
That the ruins are terribly out of repair;
Be that as it may,
There is one thing to say,
You don't see such ruins, mind, every day.
'Bout a mile from the castle, near Cossington Wood,
Is the site where an old Roman monastery stood;
And, cover'd all over with blackthorns and briars,
Is the place where they buried the monks and the friars;
And there is not a doubt
(From what I can make out
While they lived, they lived well, and got awfully stout.
