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You ruffling roysters every one,
defence say

then We women still for gallant minds

May well compare with men.


But if so be it chanced

The countries were beset,
With hue, and cries, and warrants,

Into my house I get,
And I so being with my maids,

Would cloak the matter so,
That no man could, by any means,

The right offender know.



Yet God that still most justly

Doth punish every vice,
Did bring unto confusion,

My fortunes in a trice
For by a murder all my sins

Were strangely brought to light, And such desert I had by law

As justice claim'd by right,

Upon the heath of Misseldon,

I met a woman there,
And robb’d her as from market

Homewards she did repair,
Which woman call'd me by my name,

And said that she me knew,
For which even with her life's dear blood

My hands I did embrue.

But after I had wounded

This woman unto death,
And that her bleeding body

Was almost reft of breath :
She gave a groan, and therewithall

Did spit upon my face
Three drops of blood, that never could

Be wiped from that place.

For after I returned

Unto my house again,
The more that I it wash'd

It more appeared plain :
Each hour I thought that beasts and birds

This murder would reveal,
Or that the air so vile a deed

No longer would conceal.


So heavy at my conscience

This woeful murder lay,
That I was soon enforced,

The same for to bewray,
And to my servants made it known,

As God appointed me,
For blood can never secret rest,

Nor long unpunisht be.

My servants to the justices

Declar'd what I had said,
For which I was attached,

And to the jail convey'd,
And at the 'sizes was condemn’d,

And had my just desert,
E'en such a death let all them have,

That bear so false a heart.

So farewell, earthly pleasure,

My 'quaintance all adieu,
With whom I spent the treasure,

Which causeth me to rue.
Leave off your wanton pastimes,

Lascivious and ill,
Which without God's great mercy

Both soul and body kill.

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Be warned by this story

You ruffling roysters all :
The higher that you climb in sin,

The greater is your fall :
And since the world so wicked is,
Let all desire

Grant, Lord, that I the last may be

That runneth such a race !




A brief Account of a young Damsell near Wolver

hampton, who cut her throat in despair, because she could not have the man she loved.

To the tune of Russell's Farewell.

Near Wolverhampton liv'd a maid,

Who fell into despair,
Her yielding heart was soon betray'd,

Into Love's fatal snare :


A young man courted her we find,

And seeming love did shew, Yet after all he prov'd unkind,

Which wrought her overthrow.

Here do I languish in distress,

The youthful damsel cried,
To see his most unfaithfulness,

All round on every side :
I nothing see but clouds of grief,

And storms of bitter woe,
It's death alone must yield relief,

Love proves my overthrow.

False-hearted Thomas call to mind,

The solemn vows you made,
That you would never prove unkind,

And can you now degrade
Your loyal lover now at last,

And fill my heart with woe, Which will my life and glory blast,

And prove my overthrow.

I courted was both day and night,

At length I gave consent, This done my love he straight did slight,

And leaves me to lament;

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