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It is the first instance I have met with in history of a prisoner standing `mute of malice. Coke read him a lecture on the subject, pointing out that by his obstinacy he was making himself liable to peine forte et dure, which meant that order could be given for his exposure in an open place near the prison, extended naked, and to have weights laid upon him in increasing amount, he being kept alive with the ``coarsest bread obtainable and water from the nearest sink or puddle to the place of execution, that day he had water having no bread, and that day he had bread having no water. One may imagine with what grim satisfaction Coke ladled this out.
He cracked jokes an' he made speeches; an' he took th' pipes fr'm under th' elbow iv Hogan, th' blindman, an' played 'Th' Wind that shakes th' Barley' till ye'd have wore ye'er leg to a smoke f'r wantin' to dance. Thin he wint to th' dure with th' two iv thim; an' says he, 'Well, he says, 'Jim, be good to her, he says, an' shook hands with her through th' carredge window.
Out th' window, says I. Just thin Dorsey's nanny-goat that died next year put her head through th' dure. 'Can't I make ye up a nice supper? says Dorsey. 'Do ye like paper? he says. 'Would ye like to help desthroy a Dutchman, he says, 'an' perform a sarvice f'r ye'er counthry? he says.
This having no effect upon him, the sentence of the press, or as it is sailed in Law, of the Peine Fort et Dure, was read to him in these words: You shall go to the place from whence you came, and there being stripped naked and laid flat upon your back on the floor, with a napkin about your middle to hide your privy members, and a cloth on your face, then the press is to be laid upon you, with as much weight as, or rather more than you can bear.
Giving the visitor no opportunity to speak, Riley placed his hand gently upon his arm, and addressed him beseechingly. "Jimmie, me la-ad," the old man said, "is it raly yersel' come ter see ye'er ol' fa-ather? I can't belave it, indade I can't; but 'tain't this we must be talkin' about now. I know it's th' great man ye are, but ye wuddent queer ye'er fa-ather by comin' ter th' front dure, wud ye?
"An' it wud do ye more good than a month's masses to see him take the hair aff the tin horns, the divil fly away wid thim! An' luk at the 'rid lights' " "'Red lights'?" interrupted Ben. "Now ye're talkin'. Who cleared up the 'rid lights' at Bull Crossin'." "Who did, thin?" "Who? The Reverend Richard Boyle is the man." "Aw, run in an' shut the dure! Ye're walkin' in yer slape." "Mr.
"Le temps ou nous nous sommes aimes n'a guere dure, jeune fille; il a passe comme un coup de vent!" Old Breton Ballad. The next morning dawned, cold and dismal.
"Sack!" cried Battersleigh, offended. "'Sack! say you, but I say, 'White! Look ye, the history of a man is something sacred. 'Sack! say you, but I say, 'White! A strip of this at me neck and at me wrist; me hat, an' me sabre and me ridin' whip I r-ride up to the dure. I dismount. I throw me rein to the man. I inter the hall and place me hat and gloves in order as they should be.
Giles Corey, a blameless man of eighty, was condemned to the mediaeval peine forte et dure, his body being crushed beneath a load of rocks and timbers. He refused to plead in court, and when the beams were laid upon him he only cried, "More weight!" The shade of the unhappy victim haunted the scene of his execution for years, and always came to warn the people of calamities.
"'Mon colonel, says a former minister iv th' Fr-rinch governmint, who was th' polisman at th' dure, 'Judge Crazy th' Boorepare is here, demandin' to be heard. "'Gr-reat hivins! says th' coort; an' they wint out through th' windows. "That night they was gr-reat excitement in Rennes. Th' citizens dhrivin home their cows cud har'ly make their way through th' excited throngs on th' sthreet.
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