115 



Giles Corey was a Wizzard strong-, 

 A stubborn wretch was he, 

 And titt was he to hang on high 

 Upon ye Locust Tree : 



So when before ye Magistrates 

 For tryall he did come, 

 He would no true confession make 

 But was compleatly dumbe. 



" Giles Corey," said ye magistrate, 

 " What hast thou hear to pleade 



To these who now accuse thy soule 



Of crymes and horrid deed." 



Giles Corey — he sayde not a "Word, 



No single Word spake he : 

 " Giles Corey" sayth ye Magistrate, 

 ■" We'll press it out of thee." 



They got them then a good wide Board, 

 They layde it on his Breast, 

 They loaded it with heavy Stones, 

 And hard upon him prest. 



" More weight," now sayd this wretched man, 

 "More weight," again he cryed. 



And he did no Confession make, 



But wickedly he dyed. 



Dame Corey lived but six dayes more, 

 But six dayes more lived she. 

 For She was hung at Gallows Hill 

 Upon ye Locust Tree. 



Rejoice all true New-England Men, 

 Let Grace still more abounde. 

 Go search ye Land with myght and main, 

 Till all these Imps be founde : 



And that will be a glorious Daye, 



A goodlie Sight to see. 



When yoa shall hang these Brands of fyre 



Upon ye Gallows Tree. 



