SARALTHIA (singing):

The jackal is a daisy,

NELLIBRAC (singing):

        The wall-mouse is a worthy third,

A SPOOK (singing):

        But mortals all are crazy.

CHORUS OF SKULLS: 

        O mortals all are crazy,
        Their intellects are hazy;
In the growing moon they shake their shoon
        And trip it in the mazy.

        But when the moon is waning,
        Their senses they’re regaining: 
      They fall to prayer and from their hair
        Remove the straws remaining.

SARALTHIA: 

That’s right, Rogues Gallery, pray keep it up: 
Your song recalls my Villiam’s “Auld Lang Syne,”
What time he came and (like an amorous bird
That struts before the female of its kind,
Warbling to cave her down the bank) piped high
His cracked falsetto out of reach.  Enough—­
Now let’s to business.  Nellibrac, sweet child,
St. Cloacina’s future devotee,
The time is ripe and rotten—­gut the grip!

(Nellibrac brings forward a valise and takes from it five articles of clothing, which, one by one, she lays upon the points of a magic pentagram that has thoughtfully inscribed itself in lines of light on the wet grass.  The Body holds its late lamented nose.)

NELLIBRAC (singing):

        Fragrant socks, by Villiam’s toes
        Consecrated to the nose;

        Shirt that shows the well worn track
        Of the knuckles of his back,

        Handkerchief with mottled stains,
        Into which he blew his brains;

        Collar crying out for soap—­
        Prophet of the future rope;

        An unmentionable thing
        It would sicken me to sing.

UNMENTIONABLE THING (aside):

What! I unmentionable?  Just you wait! 
In all the family journals of the State
You’ll sometime see that I’m described at length,
With supereditorial grace and strength.

SARALTHIA (singing):

        Throw them in the open tomb
        They will cause his love to bloom
        With an amatory boom!

CHORUS OF INVISIBLE HOODOOS: 

        Hoodoo, hoodoo, voudou-vet
        Villiam struggles in the net! 
        By the power and intent
        Of the charm his strength is spent! 
        By the virtue in each rag
        Blessed by the Inspired Hag
        He will be a willing victim
        Limp as if a donkey kicked him! 
        By this awful incantation
        We decree his animation—­

        By the magic of our art
        Warm the cockles of his heart,
        Villiam, if alive or dead,
        Thou Saralthia shalt wed!

(They cast the garments into the grave and push over the coffin.  Grimghast fills up the hole.  Hoodoos gradually become apparent in a phosphorescent light about the grave, holding one another’s back-hair and dancing in a circle.)