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In brief, a small collapsing cell,
Whose iron walls, that formed a square,
Enclosed a space some ten feet wide,
The iron plates being so applied
They could at need be made recede,
And then the room they formed expanded;
As they approached the space grew spare
And could be made to disappear—
If circumstances should demand it.
Just in the middle of this cell
Was sunk an awful shaft or well,
To which the walls, contracting, swept
As onward, inch by inch, they crept
The wretch within ’em to the oubliette:
Death’s natural horror’s not sufficient
To punish folks, in faith deficient,
So Church, a natural proficient
In butchery, has not idly slept
But done her utmost to quintuple it.
(According to strict rules of grammar
The “it” refers to faith instead of
That final act we're all in dread of,
And Church made thrice more awful, d—n her.)
I trust the couplet thus amended
Conveys the meaning here intended.
Well, to return from this digression,
These iron walls I’ve laid such stress on
With frightful fiends were decorated,
Such as your Christian’s never sated
With fancying and depicting where
In keeping—say, his house of prayer.
This cell being destined for religious
