John Lee, your headache's growing,
But the sea's without a ripple
John Lee, your forehead's damp,
And the sea can't use a cripple
John Lee's been made a freeman,
But his flesh won't make a sailor
That's ringing for his labour
We think things must get better
John Lee, you've a friend so true,
Miss Keyes has sent a letter
And I'll send someone to meet you"
John's gone to where he started from,
he's not worked long, just beginning to belong
"It hasn't been a very good day,
the missus wants to halve my pay
Close the door and douse the light,
it's quiet at night when she's tucked in tight
Sometimes I feel, when they're all in bed,
it's al most like the whole world's dead
So I lay me down to sleep,
I pray thee Lord my soul to keep"
"The customary quiet of Babbacombe,
Torquay, was greatly disturbed
early on Saturday morning
D the peaceful inhabitants roused
Alarm and ter ror by one of the
That human devilment could plan or
Trate. The name of the victim was Miss
Of her home, the scene of her tragedy,
Was found early in the morning,
Floor. Her throat had been horribly
Was evident that her murderer
Attempted to burn the corpse."