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She Would Be a Mason

Today in Masonic History we present She Would Be a Mason by Rob Morris.

The funniest thing I ever heard,
The funniest thing that ever occurred,
Is the story of Mrs. Mehitable Byrde,
Who wanted to be a Mason!

Her husband, Tom Byrde, is a Mason true,
As good a Mason as any of you;
He is Tyler of Lodge Cerulean Blue,
And tyles and delivers the summons due,
And she wanted to be a Mason too,
This ridiculous Mrs. Byrde!

She followed round, this ridiculous wife,
And nabbed him and teased him half out of his life;
So to terminate this unhallowed strife,
He consented at last to admit her.
And first, to disguise her from bonnet and shoon,
This ridiculous lady agreed to put on
His breech-ah! forgive me, I meant pantaloon,
And miraculously did they fit her!

The Lodge was at work on the Master's degree;
The light was ablaze on the letter G;
High soared the pillars J and B;
The officers sat like Solomon wise;
The brimstone burned amid horrid cries;
The goat roamed wildly through the room;
The candidate begged them to let him go home;
The devil himself stood up in the east,
As bold as an Alderman at a feast,
When In came Mrs. Byrde.

Oh, horrible sounds! Oh, horrible sight!
Can it be that Masons take delight
In spending thus the hours of night?
Ah! could their wives and daughters know
The unutterable things they say and do,
Their feminine hearts would burst with wo!
But this is not all my story;-

Those Masons joined in a hideous ring,
The candidate howling like everything,
And thus in tones or death they sing:
(The candidate's name was Morey)
" Blood to drink, and bones to crack,
Skulls to smash, and lives to take,
Hearts to crush, and souls to burn-
Give old Morey another turn,
And make him grim and gory."

Trembling with horror stood Mrs. Byrde,
Unable to utter a single word,
She staggered and fell in the nearest chair,
On the left of the Junior Warden there;
And scarcely noticed, so loud the groan,,
That the chair was made of human bones.

Of human bones! On grinning skulls
That ghastly throne of horror rolls,
Those skulls, the skulls that Morgan bore;
Those bones, the bones that Morgan wore.
His scalp across the top was flung
His teeth around the arms were strung;
Never in all romance was known
Such uses made of human bones.

There came a pause - a pair or paws
Reached through the floor, up sliding doors,
And grabbed the unhappy candidate!
How can I without tears relate
The lost and ruined Morey's fate?
She saw him sink In fiery hole,
She heard him scream, "My soul! my soul!"
While roars of fiendish laughter rolled,
And drowned the yells of Morey.
"Blood to drink," etc. etc.

The ridiculous woman could stand no more:
She fainted and fell on the checkered floor,
'Midst all the diabolical roar.
What then, you ask me, did befall
Mehitable Byrde? Why, nothing at all -
She dreamed she had been in a Mason's hall.