Francis Winter's last Farewel:
OR, THE
White-Fryers Captain's Confession and Lamentation,
Just before his Execution at the Gate of White-Fryers, on the 17th
of this instant May, 1693. Tune of, Russel's Farewel.
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BEhold these sorrows now this day,
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you that are standers by,
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All former joys are fleed away,
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now I am brought to die:
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My heart is fill'd with fear and dread,
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for here is no relief,
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Since I a sinful life have led,
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I nothing see but Grief.
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I spent my days with roaring boys,
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and little thought of death,
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But where are all those fading joys,
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now I must loose my breath:
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Now they are clearly fleed from me,
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and there is no relief,
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Alas! alas! I nothing see,
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but bitter clouds of Grief.
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Alas! the follies of my youth
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comes fresh into my mind;
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Had I been guided by the truth,
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then had I left behind
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A better name then now I shall,
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alas! here's no relief;
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I by the hand of justice fall,
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and nothing see but Grief.
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Bold Francis Winter is my name,
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who seem'd to bear the sway,
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But now, alas! in open shame
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I do appear this day:
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My former joys have taken flight,
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for here is no relief;
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Grim Death appears this day in sight,
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which fills my soul with Grief.
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I must acknowledge this is true,
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that when in arms we rose,
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I was the captain of that crew
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which did the sheriff oppose:
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'Tis said a man was slain by me,
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therefore here's no relief,
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For I must executed be,
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and nothing see but Grief.
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Whether I kill'd the man or no,
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I cannot justly
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But since in arms we
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we seem'd to disobey
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The city's lawful magistrate;
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therefore here's no relief.
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And I must here submit to fate,
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I nothing see but Grief.
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It was against the wholesome laws
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of this my native land,
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To rise in arms, and be the cause
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of that rebellious band,
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Who broke through law and justice too,
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of which I was the chief,
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For which I bid the world adieu;
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I nothing see but Grief.
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Let my misfortunes teach the rest
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obedience to the laws;
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Let them not magistrates molest,
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for that has been the cause
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Of shedding blood, for which I die,
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I being there the chief;
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The very minute's drawing night,
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I nothing see but Grief.
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I ofrentimes have wish'd, in vain,
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that I had not been there;
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Nay, were it to be done again,
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I shou'd that deed forbear,
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And not myself with such inthral,
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tho' then I was the chief;
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But what is past, I can't recal,
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I nothing see but Grief.
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The thousands that are standing by,
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alas! you little know
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My inward grief and misery,
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and what I undergo:
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O let me have your prayers this day,
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my sorrows here condole:
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I now have nothing more to say,
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but, Lord receive my soul.
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