The night was cold, the wind was high, <br />And stars bespangled all the sky; <br />Churchwarden Joe had laid him down, <br />And slept secure on bed of down; <br />But still the pleasing hope of gain, <br />That never left his active brain, <br />Exposed the churchyard to his view, <br />That seat of treasure wholly new. <br />“Pull down that cross,” he quickly cried, <br />The mason instantly complied: <br />When lo! behold, the golden prize <br />Appears—joy sparkles in his eyes. <br />The door now creaks, the window shakes, <br />With sudden fear he starts and wakes; <br />Quaking and pale, in eager haste <br />His haggard eyes around he cast; <br />A ghastly phantom, lean and wan, <br />That instant rose, and thus began: <br />“Weak wretch—to think to blind my eyes! <br />Hypocrisy's a thin disguise; <br />Your humble mien and fawning tongue <br />Have oft deceived the old and young. <br />On this side now, and now on that, <br />The very emblem of the bat: <br />Whatever part you take, we know <br />'Tis only interest makes it so, <br />And though with sacred zeal you burn, <br />Religion's only for your turn; <br />I'm Conscience called!” Joe greatly feared; <br />The lightning flashed—it disappeared.<br /><br />Thomas Chatterton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-churchwarden-and-the-apparition-a-fable/
