VI.
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n Reading gaol by Reading townThere is a pit of shame,And in it lies a wretched manEaten by teeth of flame,In 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!
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