The Counterfeit Coyner:
OR,
The Dying Lamentation of John Moor, the Tripe man, who
was Arrained and found Guilty of Counterfiting the Coyn of the Kingdom,
and was accordingly Executed at Tyburn, on Fryday the 12 of July, 1695.
To the Tune of, Russel's Farewel. Licensed according to Order.
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WIth bleeding heart of heaviness,
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my dying moan I make,
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For since the laws I did transgress,
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this world I must forsake:
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The dreadful day is come at last
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at which I am dismay'd,
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And troubl'd am for what is past:
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farewel the Coyning-trade.
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Why did I thus increase my store,
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by such a crying sin?
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Whose bags were full enough before,
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had I contented been,
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But O! my gready, gready heart,
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no conscience could perswade,
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With life and riches I must part:
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farewel the Coyning-trade.
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While here I did to riches rise,
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I swell'd with pride indeed,
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And often look'd with scornful eyes,
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on those that stood in need;
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So that I lost the love of all,
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the World does me degrade,
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They triumph at my fatal fall,
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by my late Coyning-trade.
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With such a peice of vanity,
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the World shall seldom meet,
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as when with crowns I boasted I
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could pave all Peter's street;
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This pride will have a fall I find,
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and in the dust be laid,
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My riches I must leave behind:
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farewel the Coyning-trade.
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The wicked deed which I have done,
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I do repent too late;
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My glass of life is almost run,
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oh! most unhappy fate,
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I must be now this very day,
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a sad example made,
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I having wrought my life's decay:
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farewel the Coyning-trade.
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In westminster, it is well known,
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I many years did dwell,
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But I myself have overthrown,
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for want of doing well;
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Had it not been for cursed gold,
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I there might still have staid,
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But now pale Death I do behold:
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farewel the Coyning-trade.
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Kind loving Friends be warn'd by me,
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you that Spectators are,
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A peice of bread with honesty,
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is better then rich fare,
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That's got by such unlawful ways,
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as mony falsely made,
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For that has shorten'd now my days:
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farewel the Coyning-trade.
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My Children does their grief express
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in melting tears, for why
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I am their Father ne'er the less,
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tho' by the laws I dye;
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Nature obliges them to grieve,
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yet all that can be said,
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With sighs of them I take my leave:
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farewel the Coyning-trade.
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How bitter is the thoughts of Death,
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which stare's me in the face,
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For now I must reside my breath,
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in shame and sad disgrace,
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While few or none will pity me,
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because such pranks I play'd,
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Therefore no hope of life I see:
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farewel the Coyning-trade.
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The latter minute is at hand,
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farewel the World affairs;
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All you that now Spectators stand,
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assit me with your prayers:
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Into eternity I go,
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God grant my peace be made,
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Since Coyning wrought my overthrow,
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farewel that wicked trade.
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