Come all New-England Men
And hearken unto me,
And I will tell what did befalle
Upon ye Gallows Tree.
In Salem Village was the Place
As I did heare them saye,
And Goodwyfe Corey was her Name
Upon that paynfull Daye:
This Goody Corey was a Witch
The People did believe,
Afflicting of the Godly Ones
Did make them sadlie Greave.
There were two pyous Matron Dames
And goodly Maidens Three,
That cryed upon this heynous Witch
As you shall quicklie see.
Goodwyfe Bibber, she was one,
And Goodwyfe Goodall two,
These were ye sore afflicted ones
By Fyts and Pynchings too:
And those Three Damsels fair
She worried them full sore,
As all could see upon their Arms
The divers Marks they bore.
And when before the Magistrates
For Tryall she did stand,
This Wicked Witch did lye to them
While holding up her Hand;
"I pray you all Good Gentlemen
Come listen unto me,
I never harmed those two Goodwyfes
Nor yet these Children Three:"
"I call upon my Saviour Lord"
(Blasphemously she sayed)
"As Witness of my Innocence
In this my hour of Need."
The Godly Ministers were shockt
This Witch-prayer for to hear,
And some did see ye Black Man[180] there
A whispering in her Eare.
The Magistrates did saye to her
Most surely thou doth lye,
Confess thou here thy hellish Deeds
Or ill Death thou must dye.
She rent her Cloaths, she tore her Haire,
And lowdly she did crye,
"May Christe forgive mine Enimies
When I am called to dye."
This Goodwyfe had a Goodman too,
Giles Corey was his Name,
In Salem Gaol they shut him in
With his blasphemous Dame.
Giles Corey was a Wizzard strong,
A stubborn Wretch was he,
And fitt 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 compleatlie dumbe.
"Giles Corey," said ye Magistrates
"What hast thou heare 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 _heavy Beam_,
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 wickedlie he Dyed.
Dame Corey lived but six Dayes more,
But six Day's more lived she,
For She was hung at Gallows Hill
Upon ye Locust Tree.
Rejoyce all true New-England Men,
Let Grace still more abounde,
Go search ye Land with myght and maine
Till all these Imps be founde:
And that will be a glorious Daye,
A goodlie Sight to see,
When you shall hang these Brands of Fyre
Upon ye Gallows Tree.