But now in its misery my spirit has fallen dumb:
Oh, merry friends, go your way, I have never a word to say.
What would I give for tears, not smiles but scalding tears,
To wash the black mark clean, and to thaw the frost of years,
To wash the stain ingrain, and to make me clean again.
JEAN INGELOW
1820-1897
145. The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire (1571)
The old mayor climbed the belfry tower,