THE GROOM:
Late last night I'm in the cellars...
Black as pitch...the gas is out...
Old Mauclair, the lightin' fellow's,
Fast asleep again, no doubt.
All at once there's [bad word] 
Caesar's restless and disturbed,
Somethin's makin' 'im perturbed,
And in spite of no light,
I can see a wierd sight.
Clingin' on to Caesar's back,
Dressed from 'ead to toe in black,
Wiv a long flowin' cape...
And a mask up to its forehead,
Gallopin' 'im down the corridor,
Is somethin' really 'orrid...
Just a shape...
Though I'm out of gas,
I realize it 'as,
To be...
'Im.
I gettin' through?
I'm one of very few,
To see...
'Im.
Then I'm away, leggin' it like 'ell,
Mister R, you should 'ave 'eard me yell,
"Mauclair!"
"Are you there?"
"Where've you gone?"
"Anyone!"
"Everyone!"
"'Elp!"