 | Giles Corey |  |
Giles Corey [September 19, 1692]
Giles Corey was a Wizzard strong,
A stubborn wretch was he;
And fitt was he to hang on high
Upon the Locust-tree.
A stubborn wretch was he;
And fitt was he to hang on high
Upon the Locust-tree.
So when before the magistrates
For triall he did come,
He would no true confession make,
But was compleatlie dumbe.
For triall he did come,
He would no true confession make,
But was compleatlie dumbe.
“Giles Corey,” said the Magistrate,
“What hast thou heare to pleade
To these that now accuse thy soule
Of crimes and horrid deed?”
“What hast thou heare to pleade
To these that now accuse thy soule
Of crimes and horrid deed?”
Giles Corey, he said not a worde,
No single worde spoke he.
“Giles Corey,” saith the Magistrate,
“We‘ll press it out of thee.”
No single worde spoke he.
“Giles Corey,” saith the Magistrate,
“We‘ll press it out of thee.”
They got them then a heavy beam,
They laid it on his breast;
They loaded it with heavy stones,
And hard upon him prest.
They laid it on his breast;
They loaded it with heavy stones,
And hard upon him prest.
“More weight!” now said this wretched man;
“More weight!”again he cried;
And he did no confession make,
But wickedly he dyed.
“More weight!”again he cried;
And he did no confession make,
But wickedly he dyed.
| Giles Corey | |