The Flying Dutchman.

''I see it! I see it! Troth, pinch me well, For my eyes deceive me, Stand surety lad, to my testimony.'' 'Twere, the ghoulish sailors clad, In tattered greys, bedragged, By sullen orders from the devil, Mollock! 'Twere the devil for real! Oh look ye friend, the rotting barnacles, O'ergrown things, on which to subsist See ye the skeletal forms, Their bosoms grieved for flesh and blood, Hush malad, look ye well, See her creak, watch her fumble, Her rotten teaks, her foul liquor Hear her raise, her main-mast torn By briny winds, a century's lore. She's seen us, the ghouls in have! Make haste, be not seen, haste! For the evil, sunken eye looketh, Piercing my very soul, I swoon! Methinks I'm dying, I'm dying, Helpless sighing, lonely lying, The rats swarm, oh the qualms! Where's the moon, where's that craven! She's off, no hand in this! They climb, the demons fiery, Heavens, my heart fails me! Sound the alarum, ring the bell, A battle ensues, a bloody one, Principalities and flesh, Clash in one mighty fight, Oh the burning smell of flesh, Wrenches my umbles, emetic odors, Green fingers grapple. Long, thin, wiry, sinister, The yellow eyes mock the terror, No sound escapes my parched mouth, Old, wrinkled, greenish, sticky, Ad nauseum, they burn it, My flesh burns and smells, Yes! My very own! I live not, To tell, 'Twere a nightmare.