THE
Mournful Plotters:
OR, THE
Sorrowful Lamentation of several Conspi-
rators within the Walls of Newgate; being sadly af-
flicted with a Fear they shall Die in a Heritick Hal-
ter. To the Tune of, Russel's Farwel.
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WIthin these Prison Walls we lye,
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sweet loving Sons of Rome,
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Whose bloudy Zeal for Popery,
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has pointed out our doom,
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Which is to go to Trussam-fair,
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the Fate we cannot miss,
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'Tis very sad I do declare,
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who would have thought of this?
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We were indeed as fine a Knot,
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as ever yet was known,
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To carry on a Popish-plot,
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and undermind a Throne;
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The French was ready at our call,
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yet we the Mark did miss,
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Our Devil has deceiv'd us all,
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who would have thought of this?
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Old Lewis waits to hear the news,
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what his dear Trouts have done;
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But we alas, our Lives must loose,
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from hence we cannot run;
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They'll search the Land and City round,
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e're one of us they'll miss,
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At length we shall be guilty found,
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who would have thought of this?
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When first the Plot had taken wind,
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we scour'd too and fro,
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But could no place of safety find,
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where-ever we did go;
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Alength our Coach-man did mistrust,
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that we had done a-miss,
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And gave his Information first,
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who would have thought of this?
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The Steel-yard near the Water-side,
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we may remember well,
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For there we went ourselves to hide,
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as in a lonesome Cell;
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They knew us not, we call'd for Wine,
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e're we the Glass could kiss,
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The Coach man came with eight or nine,
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who would have thobght of this?
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Here we confess it was not late,
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when as we settl'd there,
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And yet they took us napping straight,
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as Moss he catch'd his Mare:
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My Brother look'd like yea and nay,
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and I was much a-miss,
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Alas! alas! what shall we say?
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who would have thought of this?
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The Coach-man chanc'd to over-hear.
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my loving Brother say,
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We shall be known, e're long I fear.
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if in the Town we stay;
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This raised a suspition straight,
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that we had done a-miss,
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We now are both unfortunate,
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who would have thought of this?
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Our dear beloved Christian-turk,
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will break his Heart I fear,
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When as he finds the bloudy Work,
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cannot be mannag'd here;
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The Trible-tree (without dispute)
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not one of us will miss,
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For we are routed horse and foot,
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who would have thought of this?
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Here do we lye with Fetters bound,
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Friends, in a loathsome Goal,
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With Wall of Stone encompast round,
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our sorrows to bewail:
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More of the Tribe comes daily in,
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there's few or none they'll miss;
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When first the Plot we did begin,
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we little thought of this.
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If Lewis our religious Friend,
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would but intreat the Pope,
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That unto each of us he'd send
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a consecrated Rope,
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That we might Hempen Martyers dye,
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when Sentence it is past,
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Sure such a thing he'll not deny
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his loving Sons at last.
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