Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/202

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198
The death of tankerfield.
Unto a doleful prison-cell,
Where he remained a space.

But when before the court he came,
To answer for his faith,
Of Christ the Lord he was not shamed,
But owned him unto death.

So, when the summer-tide was come,
And all the fields were green,
And flowers upon the dewy meads
Were joyful to be seen,

They brought him®from his dungeon-cell
Unto a certain Inn,
And bade him to remember well
The wages of his sin.

For that he never more should see
The rising of the sun.
"Then," with a cheerful voice, quoth he,
"Good Lord, thy will be done!

"Now, bring me here a cup of wine,
Withal a wheaten cake,
To keep the Supper of the Lord,
Ere I my end do make.