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diff --git a/7534-0.txt b/7534-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..67f9722 --- /dev/null +++ b/7534-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2342 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Book of Ballads, Volume 4, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Book of Ballads, Volume 4 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Beverly Nichols + +Posting Date: April 29, 2014 [EBook #7534] +Release Date: February, 2005 +First Posted: May 15, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOK OF BALLADS, VOLUME 4 *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger, Juliet Sutherland, Phil McLaury, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. Text version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +A BOOK OF OLD BALLADS + +Selected and with an Introduction + +by + +BEVERLEY NICHOLS + + + +[Illustration: title page art] + + + + + CONTENTS + + EDWARD, EDWARD + KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS + HYND HORN + JOHN BROWN'S BODY + TIPPERARY + THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON + THE THREE RAVENS + THE GABERLUNZIE MAN + THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL + THE LYE + THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL + + +_The source of these ballads will be found in the Appendix +at the end +of this book._ + + + LIST OF COLOUR PLATES + + HYND HORN + THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON + THE THREE RAVENS + THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL + + + + + + + +EDWARD, EDWARD + +[Illustration: Edward, Edward headpiece] + + + Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid, + Edward, Edward? + Quhy dois zour brand sae drop wi' bluid? + And quhy sae sad gang zee, O? + O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid, + Mither, mither: + O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid: + And I had nae mair bot hee, O. + + Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, + Edward, Edward. + Zour haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, + My deir son I tell thee, O. + O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, + Mither, mither: + O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, + That erst was sae fair and free, O. + + Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, + Edward, Edward; + Zour steid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, + Sum other dule ze drie, O. + O, I hae killed my fadir deir, + Mither, mither: + O, I hae killed my fadir deir, + Alas! and wae is mee, O! + + And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that, + Edward, Edward? + And quhatten penance will ze drie for that? + My deir son, now tell mee, O. + He set my feit in zonder boat, + Mither, mither: + He set my feit in zonder boat, + And He fare ovir the sea, O. + + And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha', + Edward, Edward? + And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha', + That were sae fair to see, O? + He let thame stand til they doun fa', + Mither, mither: + He let thame stand til they doun fa', + For here nevir mair maun I bee, O. + + And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife, + Edward, Edward? + And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife, + Quhan ze gang ovir the sea, O? + The warldis room, let thame beg throw life, + Mither, mither; + The warldis room, let thame beg throw life, + For thame nevir mair wul I see, O. + + And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir, + Edward, Edward? + And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir? + My deir son, now tell me, O. + The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, + Mither, mither: + The curse of hell frae me sail ze beir, + Sic counseils ze gave to me, O. + + +[Illustration: Edward, Edward tailpiece] + + +KING LEIR & HIS THREE DAUGHTERS + +[Illustration: King Leir & his three daughters headpiece] + + + King Leir once ruled in this land + With princely power and peace; + And had all things with hearts content, + That might his joys increase. + Amongst those things that nature gave, + Three daughters fair had he, + So princely seeming beautiful, + As fairer could not be. + + So on a time it pleas'd the king + A question thus to move, + Which of his daughters to his grace + Could shew the dearest love: + For to my age you bring content, + Quoth he, then let me hear, + Which of you three in plighted troth + The kindest will appear. + + To whom the eldest thus began; + Dear father, mind, quoth she, + Before your face, to do you good, + My blood shall render'd be: + And for your sake my bleeding heart + Shall here be cut in twain, + Ere that I see your reverend age + The smallest grief sustain. + + And so will I, the second said; + Dear father, for your sake, + The worst of all extremities + I'll gently undertake: + And serve your highness night and day + With diligence and love; + That sweet content and quietness + Discomforts may remove. + + In doing so, you glad my soul, + The aged king reply'd; + But what sayst thou, my youngest girl, + How is thy love ally'd? + My love (quoth young Cordelia then) + Which to your grace I owe, + Shall be the duty of a child, + And that is all I'll show. + + And wilt thou shew no more, quoth he, + Than doth thy duty bind? + I well perceive thy love is small, + When as no more I find. + Henceforth I banish thee my court, + Thou art no child of mine; + Nor any part of this my realm + By favour shall be thine. + + Thy elder sisters loves are more + Then well I can demand, + To whom I equally bestow + My kingdome and my land, + My pompal state and all my goods, + That lovingly I may + With those thy sisters be maintain'd + Until my dying day. + + Thus flattering speeches won renown, + By these two sisters here; + The third had causeless banishment, + Yet was her love more dear: + For poor Cordelia patiently + Went wandring up and down, + Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid, + Through many an English town: + + Untill at last in famous France + She gentler fortunes found; + Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd + The fairest on the ground: + Where when the king her virtues heard, + And this fair lady seen, + With full consent of all his court + He made his wife and queen. + + Her father king Leir this while + With his two daughters staid: + Forgetful of their promis'd loves, + Full soon the same decay'd; + And living in queen Ragan's court, + The eldest of the twain, + She took from him his chiefest means, + And most of all his train. + + For whereas twenty men were wont + To wait with bended knee: + She gave allowance but to ten, + And after scarce to three; + Nay, one she thought too much for him; + So took she all away, + In hope that in her court, good king, + He would no longer stay. + + Am I rewarded thus, quoth he, + In giving all I have + Unto my children, and to beg + For what I lately gave? + I'll go unto my Gonorell: + My second child, I know, + Will be more kind and pitiful, + And will relieve my woe. + + Full fast he hies then to her court; + Where when she heard his moan + Return'd him answer, That she griev'd + That all his means were gone: + But no way could relieve his wants; + Yet if that he would stay + Within her kitchen, he should have + What scullions gave away. + + When he had heard, with bitter tears, + He made his answer then; + In what I did let me be made + Example to all men. + I will return again, quoth he, + Unto my Ragan's court; + She will not use me thus, I hope, + But in a kinder sort. + + Where when he came, she gave command + To drive him thence away: + When he was well within her court + (She said) he would not stay. + Then back again to Gonorell + The woeful king did hie, + That in her kitchen he might have + What scullion boy set by. + + But there of that he was deny'd, + Which she had promis'd late: + For once refusing, he should not + Come after to her gate. + Thus twixt his daughters, for relief + He wandred up and down; + Being glad to feed on beggars food, + That lately wore a crown. + + And calling to remembrance then + His youngest daughters words, + That said the duty of a child + Was all that love affords: + But doubting to repair to her, + Whom he had banish'd so, + Grew frantick mad; for in his mind + He bore the wounds of woe: + + Which made him rend his milk-white locks, + And tresses from his head, + And all with blood bestain his cheeks, + With age and honour spread. + To hills and woods and watry founts + He made his hourly moan, + Till hills and woods and sensless things, + Did seem to sigh and groan. + + Even thus possest with discontents, + He passed o're to France, + In hopes from fair Cordelia there, + To find some gentler chance; + Most virtuous dame! which when she heard, + Of this her father's grief, + As duty bound, she quickly sent + Him comfort and relief: + + And by a train of noble peers, + In brave and gallant sort, + She gave in charge he should be brought + To Aganippus' court; + Whose royal king, with noble mind + So freely gave consent, + To muster up his knights at arms, + To fame and courage bent. + + And so to England came with speed, + To repossesse king Leir + And drive his daughters from their thrones + By his Cordelia dear. + Where she, true-hearted noble queen, + Was in the battel slain; + Yet he, good king, in his old days, + Possest his crown again. + + But when he heard Cordelia's death, + Who died indeed for love + Of her dear father, in whose cause + She did this battle move; + He swooning fell upon her breast, + From whence he never parted: + But on her bosom left his life, + That was so truly hearted. + + The lords and nobles when they saw + The end of these events, + The other sisters unto death + They doomed by consents; + And being dead, their crowns they left + Unto the next of kin: + Thus have you seen the fall of pride, + And disobedient sin. + + + + +HYND HORN + +[Illustration: Hynd Horn headpiece] + + +[Illustration: Hynd Horn] + + + "Hynde Horn's bound, love, and Hynde Horn's free; + Whare was ye born? or frae what cuntrie?" + + "In gude greenwud whare I was born, + And all my friends left me forlorn. + + "I gave my love a gay gowd wand, + That was to rule oure all Scotland. + + "My love gave me a silver ring, + That was to rule abune aw thing. + + "Whan that ring keeps new in hue, + Ye may ken that your love loves you. + + "Whan that ring turns pale and wan, + Ye may ken that your love loves anither man." + + He hoisted up his sails, and away sailed he + Till he cam to a foreign cuntree. + + Whan he lookit to his ring, it was turnd pale and wan; + Says, I wish I war at hame again. + + He hoisted up his sails, and hame sailed he + Until he cam till his ain cuntree. + + The first ane that he met with, + It was with a puir auld beggar-man. + + "What news? what news, my puir auld man? + What news hae ye got to tell to me?" + + "Na news, na news," the puir man did say, + "But this is our queen's wedding-day." + + "Ye'll lend me your begging-weed, + And I'll lend you my riding-steed." + + + "My begging-weed is na for thee, + Your riding-steed is na for me." + + He has changed wi the puir auld beggar-man. + + "What is the way that ye use to gae? + And what are the words that ye beg wi?" + + "Whan ye come to yon high hill, + Ye'll draw your bent bow nigh until. + + "Whan ye come to yon town-end, + Ye'll lat your bent bow low fall doun. + + "Ye'll seek meat for St Peter, ask for St Paul, + And seek for the sake of your Hynde Horn all. + + "But tak ye frae nane o them aw + Till ye get frae the bonnie bride hersel O." + + Whan he cam to yon high hill, + He drew his bent bow nigh until. + + And when he cam to yon toun-end, + He loot his bent bow low fall doun. + + He sought for St Peter, he askd for St Paul, + And he sought for the sake of his Hynde Horn all. + + But he took na frae ane o them aw + Till he got frae the bonnie bride hersel O. + + The bride cam tripping doun the stair, + Wi the scales o red gowd on her hair. + + Wi a glass o red wine in her hand, + To gie to the puir beggar-man. + + Out he drank his glass o wine, + Into it he dropt the ring. + + "Got ye't by sea, or got ye't by land, + Or got ye't aff a drownd man's hand?" + + "I got na't by sea, I got na't by land, + Nor gat I it aff a drownd man's hand; + + "But I got it at my wooing, + And I'll gie it to your wedding." + + "I'll tak the scales o gowd frae my head, + I'll follow you, and beg my bread. + + "I'll tak the scales o gowd frae my hair, + I'll follow you for evermair." + + She has tane the scales o gowd frae her head, + She's followed him, to beg her bread. + + She has tane the scales o gowd frae her hair, + And she has followd him evermair. + + Atween the kitchen and the ha, + There he loot his cloutie cloak fa. + + The red gowd shined oure them aw, + And the bride frae the bridegroom was stown awa. + + + + +JOHN BROWN'S BODY + +[Illustration: John Brown's Body headpiece] + + + Old John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave, + Because he fought for Freedom and the stricken Negro slave; + Old John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave, + But his soul is marching on. + + _Chorus_ + + Glory, glory, Hallelujah! + Glory, glory, Hallelujah! + Glory, glory, Hallelujah! + His soul is marching on. + + He was a noble martyr, was Old John Brown the true; + His little patriot band into a noble army grew; + He was a noble martyr, was Old John Brown the true, + And his soul is marching on. + + 'Twas not till John Brown lost his life, arose in all its might, + The army of the Union men that won the fearful fight; + But tho' the glad event, oh! it never met his sight, + Still his soul is marching on. + + John Brown is now a soldier in that heavenly land above, + Where live the happy spirits in their harmony and love, + John Brown is now a soldier in that heavenly land above, + And his soul is marching on. + + + + +TIPPERARY + +[Illustration: Tipperary headpiece] + + + Up to mighty London came an Irishman one day, + As the streets are paved with gold, sure everyone was gay; + Singing songs of Piccadilly, Strand and Leicester Square, + Till Paddy got excited, then he shouted to them there:-- + +_Chorus_ + + "It's a long way to Tipperary, + It's a long way to go; + It's a long way to Tipperary, + To the sweetest girl I know! + Good-bye Piccadilly, + Farewell, Leicester Square, + It's a long, long way to Tipperary, + But my heart's right there!" + + Paddy wrote a letter to his Irish Molly O', + Saying, "Should you not receive it, write and let me know! + "If I make mistakes in 'spelling,' Molly dear,' said he, + "Remember it's the pen that's bad, don't lay the blame on me." + + Molly wrote a neat reply to Irish Paddy O', + Saying, "Mike Maloney wants to marry me, and so + Leave the Strand and Piccadilly, or you'll be to blame, + For love has fairly drove me silly--hoping you're the same!" + + + + +THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON + +[Illustration: The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington headpiece] + + +[Illustration: The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington] + + + There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, + And he was a squires son: + He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, + That lived in Islington. + + Yet she was coye, and would not believe + That he did love her soe, + Noe nor at any time would she + Any countenance to him showe. + + But when his friendes did understand + His fond and foolish minde, + They sent him up to faire London + An apprentice for to binde. + + And when he had been seven long yeares, + And never his love could see: + Many a teare have I shed for her sake, + When she little thought of mee. + + Then all the maids of Islington + Went forth to sport and playe, + All but the bayliffes daughter deare; + She secretly stole awaye. + + She pulled off her gowne of greene, + And put on ragged attire, + And to faire London she would goe + Her true love to enquire. + + And as she went along the high road, + The weather being hot and drye, + She sat her downe upon a green bank, + And her true love came riding bye. + + She started up, with a colour soe redd, + Catching hold of his bridle-reine; + One penny, one penny, kind Sir, she sayd, + Will ease me of much paine. + + Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, + Praye tell me where you were borne: + At Islington, kind Sir, sayd shee, + Where I have had many a scorne. + + I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, + O tell me, whether you knowe + The bayliffes daughter of Islington: + She is dead, Sir, long agoe. + + If she be dead, then take my horse, + My saddle and bridle also; + For I will into some far countrye, + Where noe man shall me knowe. + + O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe, + She standeth by thy side; + She is here alive, she is not dead, + And readye to be thy bride. + + O farewell griefe, and welcome joye, + Ten thousand times therefore; + For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, + Whom I thought I should never see more. + + + +THE THREE RAVENS + +[Illustration: The Three Ravens headpiece] + + +[Illustration: The Three Ravens] + + + There were three rauens sat on a tree, + Downe a downe, hay down, hay downe + There were three rauens sat on a tree, + With a downe + There were three rauens sat on a tree, + They were as blacke as they might be + With a downe derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe + + The one of them said to his mate, + "Where shall we our breakefast take?" + + "Downe in yonder greene field, + There lies a knight slain vnder his shield. + + "His hounds they lie downe at his feete, + So well they can their master keepe. + + "His haukes they flie so eagerly, + There's no fowle dare him come nie." + + Downe there comes a fallow doe, + As great with yong as she might goe. + + She lift up his bloudy hed, + And kist his wounds that were so red. + + She got him up upon her backe, + And carried him to earthen lake. + + She buried him before the prime, + She was dead herselfe ere even-song time. + + God send every gentleman, + Such haukes, such hounds, and such a leman. + + + + +THE GABERLUNZIE MAN + + +[Illustration: The Gaberlunzie headpiece] + + + The pauky auld Carle come ovir the lee + Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee, + Saying, Good wife, for zour courtesie, + Will ze lodge a silly poor man? + The night was cauld, the carle was wat, + And down azont the ingle he sat; + My dochtors shoulders he gan to clap, + And cadgily ranted and sang. + + O wow! quo he, were I as free, + As first when I saw this countrie, + How blyth and merry wad I bee! + And I wad nevir think lang. + He grew canty, and she grew fain; + But little did her auld minny ken + What thir slee twa togither were say'n, + When wooing they were sa thrang. + + And O! quo he, ann ze were as black, + As evir the crown of your dadyes hat, + Tis I wad lay thee by my backe, + And awa wi' me thou sould gang. + And O! quoth she, ann I were as white, + As evir the snaw lay on the dike, + Ild dead me braw, and lady-like, + And awa with thee Ild gang. + + Between them twa was made a plot; + They raise a wee before the cock, + And wyliely they shot the lock, + And fast to the bent are they gane. + Up the morn the auld wife raise, + And at her leisure put on her claiths, + Syne to the servants bed she gaes + To speir for the silly poor man. + + She gaed to the bed, whair the beggar lay, + The strae was cauld, he was away, + She clapt her hands, cryd, Dulefu' day! + For some of our geir will be gane. + Some ran to coffer, and some to kist, + But nought was stown that could be mist. + She dancid her lane, cryd, Praise be blest, + I have lodgd a leal poor man. + + Since naithings awa, as we can learn, + The kirns to kirn, and milk to earn, + Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn, + And bid her come quickly ben. + The servant gaed where the dochter lay, + The sheets was cauld, she was away, + And fast to her goodwife can say, + Shes aff with the gaberlunzie-man. + + O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin, + And haste ze, find these traitors agen; + For shees be burnt, and hees be slein, + The wearyfou gaberlunzie-man. + Some rade upo horse, some ran a fit + The wife was wood, and out o' her wit; + She could na gang, nor yet could sit, + But ay did curse and did ban. + + Mean time far hind out owre the lee, + For snug in a glen, where nane could see, + The twa, with kindlie sport and glee + Cut frae a new cheese a whang. + The priving was gude, it pleas'd them baith, + To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith. + Quo she, to leave thee, I will laith, + My winsome gaberlunzie-man. + + O kend my minny I were wi' zou, + Illfardly wad she crook her mou, + Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow, + Aftir the gaberlunzie-mon. + My dear, quo he, zee're zet owre zonge; + And hae na learnt the beggars tonge, + To follow me frae toun to toun, + And carrie the gaberlunzie on. + + Wi' kauk and keel, Ill win zour bread, + And spindles and whorles for them wha need, + Whilk is a gentil trade indeed + The gaberlunzie to carrie--o. + Ill bow my leg and crook my knee, + And draw a black clout owre my ee, + A criple or blind they will cau me: + While we sail sing and be merrie--o. + + + + +THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL + +[Illustration: The Wife of Usher's Well headpiece] + + +[Illustration: The Wife of Usher's Well] + + + There lived a wife at Usher's Well, + And a wealthy wife was she; + She had three stout and stalwart sons, + And sent them oer the sea. + + They hadna been a week from her, + A week but barely ane, + Whan word came to the carline wife + That her three sons were gane. + + They hadna been a week from her, + A week but barely three, + Whan word came to the carlin wife + That her sons she'd never see. + + "I wish the wind may never cease, + Nor fashes in the flood, + Till my three sons come hame to me, + In earthly flesh and blood." + + It fell about the Martinmass, + When nights are lang and mirk, + The carlin wife's three sons came hame, + And their hats were o the birk. + + It neither grew in syke nor ditch, + Nor yet in ony sheugh; + But at the gates o Paradise, + That birk grew fair eneugh. + + * * * * * + + "Blow up the fire, my maidens, + Bring water from the well; + For a' my house shall feast this night, + Since my three sons are well." + + And she has made to them a bed, + She's made it large and wide, + And she's taen her mantle her about, + Sat down at the bed-side. + + * * * * * + + Up then crew the red, red cock, + And up and crew the gray; + The eldest to the youngest said, + 'Tis time we were away. + + The cock he hadna crawd but once, + And clappd his wings at a', + When the youngest to the eldest said, + Brother, we must awa. + + "The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, + The channerin worm doth chide; + Gin we be mist out o our place, + A sair pain we maun bide. + + "Fare ye weel, my mother dear! + Fareweel to barn and byre! + And fare ye weel, the bonny lass + That kindles my mother's fire!" + + +[Illustration: The Wife of Usher's Well tailpiece] + + + + +THE LYE + +[Illustration: The Lye headpiece] + + + Goe, soule, the bodies guest, + Upon a thanklesse arrant; + Feare not to touche the best, + The truth shall be thy warrant: + Goe, since I needs must dye, + And give the world the lye. + + Goe tell the court, it glowes + And shines like rotten wood; + Goe tell the church it showes + What's good, and doth no good: + If church and court reply, + Then give them both the lye. + + Tell potentates they live + Acting by others actions; + Not lov'd unlesse they give, + Not strong but by their factions; + If potentates reply, + Give potentates the lye. + + Tell men of high condition, + That rule affairs of state, + Their purpose is ambition, + Their practise onely hate; + And if they once reply, + Then give them all the lye. + + Tell them that brave it most, + They beg for more by spending, + Who in their greatest cost + Seek nothing but commending; + And if they make reply, + Spare not to give the lye. + + Tell zeale, it lacks devotion; + Tell love, it is but lust; + Tell time, it is but motion; + Tell flesh, it is but dust; + And wish them not reply, + For thou must give the lye. + + Tell age, it daily wasteth; + Tell honour, how it alters: + Tell beauty, how she blasteth; + Tell favour, how she falters; + And as they shall reply, + Give each of them the lye. + + Tell wit, how much it wrangles + In tickle points of nicenesse; + Tell wisedome, she entangles + Herselfe in over-wisenesse; + And if they do reply, + Straight give them both the lye. + + Tell physicke of her boldnesse; + Tell skill, it is pretension; + Tell charity of coldness; + Tell law, it is contention; + And as they yield reply, + So give them still the lye. + + Tell fortune of her blindnesse; + Tell nature of decay; + Tell friendship of unkindnesse; + Tell justice of delay: + And if they dare reply, + Then give them all the lye. + + Tell arts, they have no soundnesse, + But vary by esteeming; + Tell schooles, they want profoundnesse; + And stand too much on seeming: + If arts and schooles reply. + Give arts and schooles the lye. + + Tell faith, it's fled the citie; + Tell how the countrey erreth; + Tell, manhood shakes off pitie; + Tell, vertue least preferreth: + And, if they doe reply, + Spare not to give the lye. + + So, when thou hast, as I + Commanded thee, done blabbing, + Although to give the lye + Deserves no less than stabbing, + Yet stab at thee who will, + No stab the soule can kill. + + + + +THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL + +[Illustration: The Ballad of Reading Gaol headpiece] + + +I. + + He did not wear his scarlet coat, + For blood and wine are red, + And blood and wine were on his hands + When they found him with the dead, + The poor dead woman whom he loved, + And murdered in her bed. + + He walked amongst the Trial Men + In a suit of shabby grey; + A cricket cap was on his head, + And his step seemed light and gay; + But I never saw a man who looked + So wistfully at the day. + + I never saw a man who looked + With such a wistful eye + Upon that little tent of blue + Which prisoners call the sky, + And at every drifting cloud that went + With sails of silver by. + + I walked, with other souls in pain, + Within another ring, + And was wondering if the man had done + A great or little thing, + When a voice behind me whispered low, + _"That fellow's got to swing."_ + + Dear Christ! the very prison walls + Suddenly seemed to reel, + And the sky above my head became + Like a casque of scorching steel; + And, though I was a soul in pain, + My pain I could not feel. + + I only knew what hunted thought + Quickened his step, and why + He looked upon the garish day + With such a wistful eye; + The man had killed the thing he loved, + And so he had to die. + + * * * * * + + Yet each man kills the thing he loves, + By each let this be heard, + Some do it with a bitter look, + Some with a flattering word. + The coward does it with a kiss, + The brave man with a sword! + + Some kill their love when they are young, + And some when they are old; + Some strangle with the hands of Lust, + Some with the hands of Gold: + The kindest use a knife, because + The dead so soon grow cold. + + Some love too little, some too long, + Some sell, and others buy; + Some do the deed with many tears, + And some without a sigh: + For each man kills the thing he loves, + Yet each man does not die. + + He does not die a death of shame + On a day of dark disgrace, + Nor have a noose about his neck, + Nor a cloth upon his face, + Nor drop feet foremost through the floor + Into an empty space. + + He does not sit with silent men + Who watch him night and day; + Who watch him when he tries to weep, + And when he tries to pray; + Who watch him lest himself should rob + The prison of its prey. + + He does not wake at dawn to see + Dread figures throng his room, + The shivering Chaplain robed in white, + The Sheriff stern with gloom, + And the Governor all in shiny black, + With the yellow face of Doom. + + He does not rise in piteous haste + To put on convict-clothes, + While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes + Each new and nerve-twitched pose, + Fingering a watch whose little ticks + Are like horrible hammer-blows. + + He does not feel that sickening thirst + That sands one's throat, before + The hangman with his gardener's gloves + Comes through the padded door, + And binds one with three leathern thongs, + That the throat may thirst no more. + + He does not bend his head to hear + The Burial Office read, + Nor, while the anguish of his soul + Tells him he is not dead, + Cross his own coffin, as he moves + Into the hideous shed. + + He does not stare upon the air + Through a little roof of glass: + He does not pray with lips of clay + For his agony to pass; + Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek + The kiss of Caiaphas. + +II + + Six weeks the guardsman walked the yard + In the suit of shabby grey: + His cricket cap was on his head, + And his step seemed light and gay, + But I never saw a man who looked + So wistfully at the day. + + I never saw a man who looked + With such a wistful eye + Upon that little tent of blue + Which prisoners call the sky, + And at every wandering cloud that trailed + Its ravelled fleeces by. + + He did not wring his hands, as do + Those witless men who dare + To try to rear the changeling + In the cave of black Despair: + He only looked upon the sun, + And drank the morning air. + + He did not wring his hands nor weep, + Nor did he peek or pine, + But he drank the air as though it held + Some healthful anodyne; + With open mouth he drank the sun + As though it had been wine! + + And I and all the souls in pain, + Who tramped the other ring, + Forgot if we ourselves had done + A great or little thing, + And watched with gaze of dull amaze + The man who had to swing. + + For strange it was to see him pass + With a step so light and gay, + And strange it was to see him look + So wistfully at the day, + And strange it was to think that he + Had such a debt to pay. + + * * * * * + + For oak and elm have pleasant leaves + That in the spring-time shoot: + But grim to see is the gallows-tree, + With its adder-bitten root, + And, green or dry, a man must die + Before it bears its fruit! + + The loftiest place is that seat of grace + For which all worldlings try: + But who would stand in hempen band + Upon a scaffold high, + And through a murderer's collar take + His last look at the sky? + + It is sweet to dance to violins + When Love and Life are fair: + To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes + Is delicate and rare: + But it is not sweet with nimble feet + To dance upon the air! + + So with curious eyes and sick surmise + We watched him day by day, + And wondered if each one of us + Would end the self-same way, + For none can tell to what red Hell + His sightless soul may stray. + + At last the dead man walked no more + Amongst the Trial Men, + And I knew that he was standing up + In the black dock's dreadful pen, + And that never would I see his face + For weal or woe again. + + Like two doomed ships that pass in storm + We had crossed each other's way: + But we made no sign, we said no word, + We had no word to say; + For we did not meet in the holy night, + But in the shameful day. + + A prison wall was round us both, + Two outcast men we were: + The world had thrust us from its heart, + And God from out His care: + And the iron gin that waits for Sin + Had caught us in its snare. + +III. + + In Debtors' Yard the stones are hard, + And the dripping wall is high, + So it was there he took the air + Beneath the leaden sky, + And by each side a Warder walked, + For fear the man might die. + + Or else he sat with those who watched + His anguish night and day; + Who watched him when he rose to weep, + And when he crouched to pray; + Who watched him lest himself should rob + Their scaffold of its prey. + + The Governor was strong upon + The Regulations Act: + The Doctor said that Death was but + A scientific fact: + And twice a day the Chaplain called, + And left a little tract. + + And twice a day he smoked his pipe, + And drank his quart of beer: + His soul was resolute, and held + No hiding-place for fear; + He often said that he was glad + The hangman's day was near. + + But why he said so strange a thing + No warder dared to ask: + For he to whom a watcher's doom + Is given as his task, + Must set a lock upon his lips + And make his face a mask. + + Or else he might be moved, and try + To comfort or console: + And what should Human Pity do + Pent up in Murderer's Hole? + What word of grace in such a place + Could help a brother's soul? + + With slouch and swing around the ring + We trod the Fools' Parade! + We did not care: we knew we were + The Devil's Own Brigade: + And shaven head and feet of lead + Make a merry masquerade. + + We tore the tarry rope to shreds + With blunt and bleeding nails; + We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors, + And cleaned the shining rails: + And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank, + And clattered with the pails. + + We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones, + We turned the dusty drill: + We banged the tins, and bawled the hymns, + And sweated on the mill: + But in the heart of every man + Terror was lying still. + + So still it lay that every day + Crawled like a weed-clogged wave: + And we forgot the bitter lot + That waits for fool and knave, + Till once, as we tramped in from work, + We passed an open grave. + + With yawning mouth the yellow hole + Gaped for a living thing; + The very mud cried out for blood + To the thirsty asphalte ring: + And we knew that ere one dawn grew fair + Some prisoner had to swing. + + Right in we went, with soul intent + On Death and Dread and Doom: + The hangman, with his little bag, + Went shuffling through the gloom: + And I trembled as I groped my way + Into my numbered tomb. + + * * * * * + + That night the empty corridors + Were full of forms of Fear, + And up and down the iron town + Stole feet we could not hear, + And through the bars that hide the stars + White faces seemed to peer. + + He lay as one who lies and dreams + In a pleasant meadow-land, + The watchers watched him as he slept, + And could not understand + How one could sleep so sweet a sleep + With a hangman close at hand. + + But there is no sleep when men must weep + Who never yet have wept: + So we--the fool, the fraud, the knave-- + That endless vigil kept, + And through each brain on hands of pain + Another's terror crept. + + Alas! it is a fearful thing + To feel another's guilt! + For, right, within, the Sword of Sin + Pierced to its poisoned hilt, + And as molten lead were the tears we shed + For the blood we had not spilt. + + The warders with their shoes of felt + Crept by each padlocked door, + And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe, + Grey figures on the floor, + And wondered why men knelt to pray + Who never prayed before. + + All through the night we knelt and prayed, + Mad mourners of a corse! + The troubled plumes of midnight shook + The plumes upon a hearse: + And bitter wine upon a sponge + Was the savour of Remorse. + + * * * * * + + The grey cock crew, the red cock crew, + But never came the day: + And crooked shapes of Terror crouched, + In the corners where we lay: + And each evil sprite that walks by night + Before us seemed to play. + + They glided past, they glided fast, + Like travellers through a mist: + They mocked the moon in a rigadoon + Of delicate turn and twist, + And with formal pace and loathsome grace + The phantoms kept their tryst. + + With mop and mow, we saw them go, + Slim shadows hand in hand: + About, about, in ghostly rout + They trod a saraband: + And the damned grotesques made arabesques, + Like the wind upon the sand! + + With the pirouettes of marionettes, + They tripped on pointed tread: + But with flutes of Fear they filled the ear, + As their grisly masque they led, + And loud they sang, and long they sang, + For they sang to wake the dead. + + _"Oho!" they cried, "The world is wide, + But fettered limbs go lame! + And once, or twice, to throw the dice + Is a gentlemanly game, + But he does not win who plays with Sin + In the secret House of Shame."_ + + No things of air these antics were, + That frolicked with such glee: + To men whose lives were held in gyves, + And whose feet might not go free, + Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things, + Most terrible to see. + + Around, around, they waltzed and wound; + Some wheeled in smirking pairs; + With the mincing step of a demirep + Some sidled up the stairs: + And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer, + Each helped us at our prayers. + + The morning wind began to moan, + But still the night went on: + Through its giant loom the web of gloom + Crept till each thread was spun: + And, as we prayed, we grew afraid + Of the Justice of the Sun. + + The moaning wind went wandering round + The weeping prison-wall: + Till like a wheel of turning steel + We felt the minutes crawl: + O moaning wind! what had we done + To have such a seneschal? + + At last I saw the shadowed bars, + Like a lattice wrought in lead, + Move right across the whitewashed wall + That faced my three-plank bed, + And I knew that somewhere in the world + God's dreadful dawn was red. + + At six o'clock we cleaned our cells, + At seven all was still, + But the sough and swing of a mighty wing + The prison seemed to fill, + For the Lord of Death with icy breath + Had entered in to kill. + + He did not pass in purple pomp, + Nor ride a moon-white steed. + Three yards of cord and a sliding board + Are all the gallows' need: + So with rope of shame the Herald came + To do the secret deed. + + We were as men who through a fen + Of filthy darkness grope: + We did not dare to breathe a prayer, + Or to give our anguish scope: + Something was dead in each of us, + And what was dead was Hope. + + For Man's grim Justice goes its way, + And will not swerve aside: + It slays the weak, it slays the strong, + It has a deadly stride: + With iron heel it slays the strong, + The monstrous parricide! + + We waited for the stroke of eight: + Each tongue was thick with thirst: + For the stroke of eight is the stroke of Fate + That makes a man accursed, + And Fate will use a running noose + For the best man and the worst. + + We had no other thing to do, + Save to wait for the sign to come: + So, like things of stone in a valley lone, + Quiet we sat and dumb: + But each man's heart beat thick and quick, + Like a madman on a drum! + + With sudden shock the prison-clock + Smote on the shivering air, + And from all the gaol rose up a wail + Of impotent despair, + Like the sound that frightened marches hear + From some leper in his lair. + + And as one sees most fearful things + In the crystal of a dream, + We saw the greasy hempen rope + Hooked to the blackened beam, + And heard the prayer the hangman's snare + Strangled into a scream. + + And all the woe that moved him so + That he gave that bitter cry, + And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats, + None knew so well as I: + For he who lives more lives than one + More deaths than one must die. + +IV + + There is no chapel on the day + On which they hang a man: + The Chaplain's heart is far too sick, + Or his face is far too wan, + Or there is that written in his eyes + Which none should look upon. + + So they kept us close till nigh on noon, + And then they rang the bell, + And the warders with their jingling keys + Opened each listening cell, + And down the iron stair we tramped, + Each from his separate Hell. + + Out into God's sweet air we went, + But not in wonted way, + For this man's face was white with fear, + And that man's face was grey, + And I never saw sad men who looked + So wistfully at the day. + + I never saw sad men who looked + With such a wistful eye + Upon that little tent of blue + We prisoners called the sky, + And at every happy cloud that passed + In such strange freedom by. + + But there were those amongst us all + Who walked with downcast head, + And knew that, had each got his due, + They should have died instead: + He had but killed a thing that lived, + Whilst they had killed the dead. + + For he who sins a second time + Wakes a dead soul to pain, + And draws it from its spotted shroud, + And makes it bleed again, + And makes it bleed great gouts of blood, + And makes it bleed in vain! + + * * * * * + + Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb + With crooked arrows starred, + Silently we went round and round + The slippery asphalte yard; + Silently we went round and round, + And no man spoke a word. + + Silently we went round and round, + And through each hollow mind + The Memory of dreadful things + Rushed like a dreadful wind, + And Horror stalked before each man, + And Terror crept behind. + + * * * * * + + The warders strutted up and down, + And watched their herd of brutes, + Their uniforms were spick and span, + And they wore their Sunday suits, + But we knew the work they had been at, + By the quicklime on their boots. + + For where a grave had opened wide, + There was no grave at all: + Only a stretch of mud and sand + By the hideous prison-wall, + And a little heap of burning lime, + That the man should have his pall. + + For he has a pall, this wretched man, + Such as few men can claim: + Deep down below a prison-yard, + Naked for greater shame, + He lies, with fetters on each foot, + Wrapt in a sheet of flame! + + And all the while the burning lime + Eats flesh and bone away, + It eats the brittle bone by night, + And the soft flesh by day, + It eats the flesh and bone by turns, + But it eats the heart alway. + + * * * * + + For three long years they will not sow + Or root or seedling there: + For three long years the unblessed spot + Will sterile be and bare, + And look upon the wondering sky + With unreproachful stare. + + They think a murderer's heart would taint + Each simple seed they sow. + It is not true! God's kindly earth + Is kindlier than men know, + And the red rose would but blow more red, + The white rose whiter blow. + + Out of his mouth a red, red rose! + Out of his heart a white! + For who can say by what strange way, + Christ brings His will to light, + Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore + Bloomed in the great Pope's sight? + + But neither milk-white rose nor red + May bloom in prison-air; + The shard, the pebble, and the flint, + Are what they give us there: + For flowers have been known to heal + A common man's despair. + + So never will wine-red rose or white, + Petal by petal, fall + On that stretch of mud and sand that lies + By the hideous prison-wall, + To tell the men who tramp the yard + That God's Son died for all. + + Yet though the hideous prison-wall + Still hems him round and round, + And a spirit may not walk by night + That is with fetters bound, + And a spirit may but weep that lies + In such unholy ground. + + He is at peace-this wretched man-- + At peace, or will be soon: + There is no thing to make him mad, + Nor does Terror walk at noon, + For the lampless Earth in which he lies + Has neither Sun nor Moon. + + They hanged him as a beast is hanged: + They did not even toll + A requiem that might have brought + Rest to his startled soul, + But hurriedly they took him out, + And hid him in a hole. + + The warders stripped him of his clothes, + And gave him to the flies: + They mocked the swollen purple throat, + And the stark and staring eyes: + And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud + In which the convict lies. + + The Chaplain would not kneel to pray + By his dishonoured grave: + Nor mark it with that blessed Cross + That Christ for sinners gave, + Because the man was one of those + Whom Christ came down to save. + + Yet all is well; he has but passed + To Life's appointed bourne: + And alien tears will fill for him + Pity's long-broken urn, + For his mourners will be outcast men, + And outcasts always mourn. + +V + + I know not whether Laws be right, + Or whether Laws be wrong; + All that we know who lie in gaol + Is that the wall is strong; + And that each day is like a year, + A year whose days are long. + + But this I know, that every Law + That men have made for Man, + Since first Man took his brother's life, + And the sad world began, + But straws the wheat and saves the chaff + With a most evil fan. + + This too I know--and wise it were + If each could know the same-- + That every prison that men build + Is built with bricks of shame, + And bound with bars lest Christ should see + How men their brothers maim. + + With bars they blur the gracious moon, + And blind the goodly sun: + And they do well to hide their Hell, + For in it things are done + That Son of God nor son of Man + Ever should look upon! + + * * * * * + + The vilest deeds like poison weeds, + Bloom well in prison-air; + It is only what is good in Man + That wastes and withers there: + Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate, + And the Warder is Despair. + + For they starve the little frightened child + Till it weeps both night and day: + And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool, + And gibe the old and grey, + And some grow mad, and all grow bad, + And none a word may say. + + Each narrow cell in which we dwell + Is a foul and dark latrine, + And the fetid breath of living Death + Chokes up each grated screen, + And all, but Lust, is turned to dust + In humanity's machine. + + The brackish water that we drink + Creeps with a loathsome slime, + And the bitter bread they weigh in scales + Is full of chalk and lime, + And Sleep will not lie down, but walks + Wild-eyed, and cries to Time. + + * * * * * + + But though lean Hunger and green Thirst + Like asp with adder fight, + We have little care of prison fare, + For what chills and kills outright + Is that every stone one lifts by day + Becomes one's heart by night. + + With midnight always in one's heart, + And twilight in one's cell, + We turn the crank, or tear the rope, + Each in his separate Hell, + And the silence is more awful far + Than the sound of a brazen bell. + + And never a human voice comes near + To speak a gentle word: + And the eye that watches through the door + Is pitiless and hard: + And by all forgot, we rot and rot, + With soul and body marred. + + And thus we rust Life's iron chain + Degraded and alone: + And some men curse and some men weep, + And some men make no moan: + But God's eternal Laws are kind + And break the heart of stone. + + And every human heart that breaks, + In prison-cell or yard, + Is as that broken box that gave + Its treasure to the Lord, + And filled the unclean leper's house + With the scent of costliest nard. + + Ah! happy they whose hearts can break + And peace of pardon win! + How else man may make straight his plan + And cleanse his soul from Sin? + How else but through a broken heart + May Lord Christ enter in? + + * * * * * + + And he of the swollen purple throat, + And the stark and staring eyes, + Waits for the holy hands that took + The Thief to Paradise; + And a broken and a contrite heart + The Lord will not despise. + + The man in red who reads the Law + Gave him three weeks of life, + Three little weeks in which to heal + His soul of his soul's strife, + And cleanse from every blot of blood + The hand that held the knife. + + And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand, + The hand that held the steel: + For only blood can wipe out blood, + And only tears can heal: + And the crimson stain that was of Cain + Became Christ's snow-white seal. + +VI + + In Reading gaol by Reading town + There is a pit of shame, + And in it lies a wretched man + Eaten by teeth of flame, + In a burning winding-sheet he lies, + And his grave has got no name. + + And there, till Christ call forth the dead, + In silence let him lie: + No need to waste the foolish tear, + Or heave the windy sigh: + The man had killed the thing he loved, + And so he had to die. + + And all men kill the thing they love, + By all let this be heard, + Some do it with a bitter look, + Some with a flattering word, + The coward does it with a kiss, + The brave man with a sword! + + + + +APPENDIX + +_From "Percy's Reliques"--Volume I._ + +THE FROLICKSOME DUKE + +Printed from a black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection. + +KING ESTMERE + +This ballad is given from two versions, one in the Percy folio +manuscript, and of considerable antiquity. The original version was +probably written at the end of the fifteenth century. + +ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE + +One of the earliest known ballads about Robin Hood--from the +Percy folio manuscript. + +KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID + +This ballad is printed from Richard Johnson's _Crown Garland of +Goulden Roses,_ 1612. + +THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY + +This ballad is composed of innumerable small fragments of ancient +ballads found throughout the plays of Shakespeare, which Thomas +Percy formed into one. + +SIR ALDINGAR + +Given from the Percy folio manuscript, with some additional stanzas +added by Thomas Percy to complete the story. + +EDOM O'GORDON + +A Scottish ballad--this version was printed at Glasgow in 1755 by Robert +and Andrew Foulis. It has been enlarged with several stanzas, recovered +from a fragment of the same ballad, from the Percy folio manuscript. + + +From the Percy folio manuscript, amended by two or three others printed +in black-letter. Written about the time of Elizabeth. + +SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE + +Given from a printed copy, corrected in part by an extract from the +Percy folio manuscript. + + +THE CHILD OF ELLE + +Partly from the Percy folio manuscript, with several additional stanzas +by Percy as the original copy was defective and mutilated. + +KING EDWARD IV AND THE TANNER OF TAM WORTH + +The text in this ballad is selected from two copies in black-letter. One +in the Bodleian Library, printed at London by John Danter in 1596. The +other copy, without date, is from the Pepys Collection. + +SIR PATRICK SPENS + +Printed from two manuscript copies transmitted from Scotland. It is +possible that this ballad is founded on historical fact. + +EDWARD, EDWARD + +An old Scottish ballad--from a manuscript copy transmitted from +Scotland. + +KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS + +Version from an old copy in the _Golden Garland,_ black-letter, +entitled _A lamentable Song of the Death of King Lear and his +Three Daughters._ + +THE GABERLUNZIE MAN + +This ballad is said to have been written by King James V of Scotland. + + +_From "Percy's Reliques"--Volume II._ + +THE KNIGHT AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER + +Printed from an old black-letter copy, with some corrections. + +KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY + +This ballad was abridged and modernized in the time of James I +from one much older, entitled _King John and the Bishop of +Canterbury._ The version given here is from an ancient black-letter +copy. + +BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY + +Given, with some corrections, from an old black-letter copy, entitled +_Barbara Alien's Cruelty, or the Young Man's Tragedy._ + +FAIR ROSAMOND + +The version of this ballad given here is from four ancient copies in +black-letter: two of them in the Pepys' Library. It is by Thomas +Delone. First printed in 1612. + +THE BOY AND THE MANTLE + +This is a revised and modernized version of a very old ballad. + +THE HEIR OF LINNE + +Given from the Percy folio manuscript, with several additional stanzas +supplied by Thomas Percy. + +SIR ANDREW BARTON + +This ballad is from the Percy folio manuscript with additions and +amendments from an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys' +Collection. It was written probably at the end of the sixteenth century. + +THE BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL GREEN + +Given from the Percy folio manuscript, with a few additions and +alterations from two ancient printed copies. + +BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY + +Given from an old black-letter copy. + +THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE + +The version of an ancient black-letter copy, edited in part from the +Percy folio manuscript. + +GIL MORRICE + +The version of this ballad given here was printed at Glasgow in 1755. +Since this date sixteen additional verses have been discovered and added +to the original ballad. + +CHILD WATERS + +From the Percy folio manuscript, with corrections. + +THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON + +From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys' Collection. + +THE LYE + +By Sir Walter Raleigh. This poem is from a scarce miscellany entitled +_Davison's Poems, or a poeticall Rapsodie divided into sixe books ... +the 4th impression newly corrected and augmented and put into a forme +more pleasing to the reader._ Lond. 1621. + + +_From "English and Scottish Ballads."_ + +MAY COLLIN + +From a manuscript at Abbotsford in the Sir Walter Scott Collection, +_Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy._ + +THOMAS THE RHYMER + +_Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,_ No. 97, +Abbotsford. From the Sir Walter Scott Collection. Communicated to Sir +Walter by Mrs. Christiana Greenwood, London, May 27th, 1806. + +YOUNG BEICHAN + +Taken from the Jamieson-Brown manuscript, 1783. + +CLERK COLVILL + +From a transcript of No. 13 of William Tytler's Brown manuscript. + +THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER + +From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland,_ 1828. + +HYND HORN + +From Motherwell's manuscript, 1825 and after. + +THE THREE RAVENS + +_Melismate. Musicall Phansies. Fitting the Court, Cittie and Country +Humours._ London, 1611. (T. Ravenscroft.) + +THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL + +Printed from _Ministrelsy of the Scottish Border_, 1802. + + * * * * * + +MANDALAY + +By Rudyard Kipling. + +JOHN BROWN'S BODY + +IT'S A LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY + +By Jack Judge and Harry Williams. + +THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL + +By Oscar Wilde. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Book of Ballads, Volume 4, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOK OF BALLADS, VOLUME 4 *** + +***** This file should be named 7534-0.txt or 7534-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/5/3/7534/ + +Produced by David Widger, Juliet Sutherland, Phil McLaury, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team. 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