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Magdalene College - Pepys
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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.

BEhold these sorrows now this day,
you that are standers by,
All former joys are fleed away,
now I am brought to die:
My heart is fill'd with fear and dread,
for here is no relief,
Since I a sinful life have led,
I nothing see but Grief.

I spent my days with roaring boys,
and little thought of death,
But where are all those fading joys,
now I must loose my breath:
Now they are clearly fleed from me,
and there is no relief,
Alas! alas! I nothing see,
but bitter clouds of Grief.

Alas! the follies of my youth
comes fresh into my mind;
Had I been guided by the truth,
then had I left behind
A better name then now I shall,
alas! here's no relief;
I by the hand of justice fall,
and nothing see but Grief.

Bold Francis Winter is my name,
who seem'd to bear the sway,
But now, alas! in open shame
I do appear this day:
My former joys have taken flight,
for here is no relief;
Grim Death appears this day in sight,
which fills my soul with Grief.

I must acknowledge this is true,
that when in arms we rose,
I was the captain of that crew
which did the sheriff oppose:
'Tis said a man was slain by me,
therefore here's no relief,
For I must executed be,
and nothing see but Grief.

Whether I kill'd the man or no,
I cannot justly
But since in arms we
we seem'd to disobey
The city's lawful magistrate;
therefore here's no relief.
And I must here submit to fate,
I nothing see but Grief.

It was against the wholesome laws
of this my native land,
To rise in arms, and be the cause
of that rebellious band,
Who broke through law and justice too,
of which I was the chief,
For which I bid the world adieu;
I nothing see but Grief.

Let my misfortunes teach the rest
obedience to the laws;
Let them not magistrates molest,
for that has been the cause
Of shedding blood, for which I die,
I being there the chief;
The very minute's drawing night,
I nothing see but Grief.

I ofrentimes have wish'd, in vain,
that I had not been there;
Nay, were it to be done again,
I shou'd that deed forbear,
And not myself with such inthral,
tho' then I was the chief;
But what is past, I can't recal,
I nothing see but Grief.

The thousands that are standing by,
alas! you little know
My inward grief and misery,
and what I undergo:
O let me have your prayers this day,
my sorrows here condole:
I now have nothing more to say,
but, Lord receive my soul.


Printed for J. Deacon, at the Sign of the Angel in Guiltspur-street.

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