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EBBA 20801

Magdalene College - Pepys
Ballad XSLT Template
Capt. WHITNEY's Confession:
Penitent Lamentation,
Under a Sence of a Guilty Conscience, on the Day of
his Execution at the Porter's Block , near Smithfield-Bars, which
was on the First of February , 1693.
To the Tune of, Johnson's Farewel. Licensed according to Order.

T He fatal day is come at last,
of sorrow, grief, and shame,
Which will the fading glory blast,
of Whitney now by name.
My wicked life has been the cause
of this sad destiny;
For since I broke the Nation's laws,
'tis just that I should die.

Here to the world I freely leave
these lines, my last farewel;
And though I do not seem to grieve,
yet conscience, like a hell,
Does wrack and fill my soul with dread,
and does against me cry;
The wicked life which I have led,
makes me afraid to die.

The dreadful oaths which I have swore,
comes fresh into my mind,
When the Great God I come before,
shall I a pardon find?
Who did for sad damnation call,
when in my villany;
I under his displeasure fall,
which makes me fear to die.

'Tis true, a chearful countenance
I seeminly do bear,
But now my most unhappy chance,
drives me unto dispair;
Were conscience clear, what would I give,
all that I have, for why?
The thoughts of how I here did live,
makes me afraid to die.

I robb'd the roads both night and day,
young harlots to maintain,
From honest men I took away,
and gave it gills again;
Whom I lov'd better than a wife,
I cannot this deny;
Yet this perfidious wretched life,
makes me afraid to die.

With loaded pistol in my hand,
myself among the rest,
Would force the travellers to stand,
with pistols at their breast,
Their purses to give up with speed,
or soon the shot should flie;
To think of which my heart doth bleed,
I am afraid to die.

What though I suffer on a tree,
it is not that I fear;
But oh! what will become of me,
if God should be severe?
To me who all my days have spent
with thieves continually,
And ne'er did in the least repent,
therefore I fear to die.

My brother Holland , and the rest
are gone five days before,
While I in sorrow am opprest,
my heart is grieved sore;
This seems a second death to be,
and I in sorrow cry,
And hope you all will pitty me,
who now at last must die.

I sigh at my sad destiny,
my very heart does bleed:
Alas! why did they flatter me,
with hopes of being freed?
Why did they bring me a reprieve?
O tell me, tell me why?
Yet I at last the world must leave,
and be compell'd to die.

Farewel thou world, I must imbrace
the bitter pangs of death,
And here in shame and sad disgrace,
surrender up my breath;
For which this day I hither came,
so sad's my destiny;
And tho' I startle at the same,
'tis just that I should die.

London: Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Deacon, J. Blare, and J. Back.

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