Classic Poem

Giles Corey was a Wizzard strong,
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.

" Giles Corey, " said the Magistrate,
" 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. "

They got them then a heavy beam,
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.