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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365946" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Gravedigger</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I was leaning on my shovel, in a hole <br>As black as pitch, <br>With a plug of fine tobacco in my pipe <br>To scratch my itch, <br>But I hadn't even lit it when<br>I heard the voices clear, <br>'You'll be married on the morrow, <br>We'll be rich within the year! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I sat down and there I rested at the<br>Bottom of the grave<br>I'd been digging for a friend of mine, <br>Whose life I'd tried to save, <br>I could see the figures dimly, talking, <br>Plotting in the dark, <br>Then they kissed, and he went one way<br>While she tripped across the park.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was not that they were strangers; <br>Her I knew as Anne Morrell, <br>And she cut a pretty figure with<br>Her bustle and her veil, <br>While the man was Terence Morgan, <br>He was just a local lout, <br>But he had a way with women, 'til<br>They found the beggar out! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So I clambered out the hole, and made <br>My way into the church, <br>And I looked for where the banns were posted, <br>There, inside the porch, <br>I saw that Ann Morrell was set<br>To marry Graham Pugh...<br>The local Ironmonger who<br>Was known as 'well-to-do.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was more than well-to-do, I thought, <br>He owned a string of shops, <br>And he sent goods to the colonies, <br>In fair exchange for crops, <br>His house was like a mansion in<br>Our tiny little town, <br>Where it sat up on the hill, where he<br>Could stand, and look on down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So his bride-to-be was plotting, she was<br>Marrying for greed, <br>She had worked on Graham Pugh, <br>Worked on his loneliness and need, <br>He was in his middle forties, <br>Hadn't strayed across the line, <br>In amassing all his wealth, he said, <br>He'd never had the time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So I thought I'd better warn him that <br>They'd sworn to take his life, <br>That they'd sealed it with a kiss, the <br>Local blackguard, and his wife, <br>That I'd heard them both conspire about<br>The wealth they thought he had, <br>If he married her tomorrow, knowing this, <br>He must be mad! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So I walked on up the hill, and strode<br>Right through his fancy gates, <br>Up the drive that went forever, <br>Past the poplars in my haste, <br>And I beat upon the knocker, thinking<br>He'd invite me in, <br>But he kept me standing on the step; <br>'Your story's rather thin! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm quite ashamed of what I did, but this<br>Was life or death, <br>I stayed awake all night that night, <br>Could scarcely catch my breath, <br>So many things to do and plan, <br>The morning came at last, <br>The wedding party turned up late, <br>They all wore party masks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'll have to dig that grave again, I<br>Somehow filled it in, <br>And Terence Morgan quit the town, <br>He's not been seen since then, <br>While Graham Pugh woke up, I think<br>En route to Aberdeen, <br>Quite safe from plotting women, and<br>Unmarried, it would seem.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While down the aisle the bride had swept<br>In ribbons, veil and lace, <br>The veil so thick, she couldn't see<br>Her hand before her face, <br>I wore my collar high that day, <br>Top hat and tails, you see, <br>And when I turned to kiss the bride...<br>She found she'd married me! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">17 June 2010</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365946" data-title="The Gravedigger de David Lewis Paget" data-description="I was leaning on my shovel, in a hole 
As black as pitch, 
With a plug of fine tobacco in my pipe 
To scratch my itch, 
But I hadn't even lit it when
I heard the voices clear, 
'You'll be married on the morrow, 
We'll be rich within the year! '

I..."></div>
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