A Kentishman of Maidstone, his ovvne Arraignment, Confession, Condemnation, and Iudgement of Himselfe, whilst hee lay Prisoner in the Kings Bench for the Poisoning of Sir Thomas Ouerbury.

I Am Arraign'd at the black dreadfull Barre,
Where Sinnes (so red as Scarlet) Iudges are;
All my Inditements are my horrid Crimes,
Whose Story will affright succeeding Times,
As (now) they driue the present into wonder,
Making Men tremble, as trees struck with Thunder.
If any askes what Euidence comes in,
O'tis my Conscience, which hath euer bin
A thousand witnesses: and now it tells
A Tale, to cast me to ten thousand Hells.
The Iury are my Thoughts (vpright in this,)
They sentence me to death for doing amisse:
Examinations more there need not then,
Than what's confest heere both to God and Men.
The Crier of the Court is my black Shame,
Which when it cals my Iury, doth proclaime
Vnles (as they are summon'd) they appeare,
To giue true Verdict of the Prisoner,
They shall haue heauy Fines vppon them set,
Such, as may make them dye deep in Heauens debt.
[...] About mee round sit Innocence and Truth,
As Clerkes to this high Court; and little Ruth
From Peoples eies is cast vpon my face,
Because my facts are barbarous, damn'd, and base.
The Serieants that about mee (thick) are plac't,
To guard me to my death, (when I am cast)
Are the black stings my speckled soule now feeles,
Which like to Furies dog me close at heeles.
The Hangman, that attends me is Despaire,
And gnawing wormes my fellow-Prisoners are.

His first Inditement for Murder.

THe first who (at this Sessions) loud doth call me,
Is Murder, whose grim visage doth appall me,
His eyes are fires, his voyce rough windes out rores,
And on my head the Diuine Vengeance scores;
So fast and fearfully I sinke to grownd,
And wish I were in twenty Oceans drownd.
He sayes I haue a bloudy villaine bin,
And (to proue this) ripe Euidence steps in,
Brow'd like my selfe: Iustice so brings about,
That black sinnes still hunt one another out:
'Tis like a rotten frame ready to fall,
For one maine Post being shaken, puls downe all.
To this Indictment, (holding vp my hand,)
Fettered with Terrors more then Irons I stand,
And being ask'd what to the bill I say,
Guilty I cry. O dreadfull Sessions-day!

His second Indictment for poysoning.

ANother, forthwith bids me come to'th Barre,
(Poyson) that Hel-borne cunning Sorcerer,
That windes himselfe into a thousand formes,
And when the day is brightest flings downe stormes,
This hath an Angels face, a Mermaids tongue,
And notes of much destruction it hath sung.
This, is the Coward Sinne, which (like a Pill,)
When 'tis most gulded, is most sure to kill.
Whether this Hel-hownd strike at Morne or Night,
So trecherous, close, and speedy is his fight,
That Armors all-of-proofe, nor Towers of Stone,
Can barre his bloody Execution.
This Snake with the smooth skin hiss'd out my name
Mongst others more, and venom'd me with shame
That rancles to the soule. It sayes that I
(For a poore golden handfull) did defie
Heauen and Saluation, when I gaue consent
To teare the bowels of an Innocent
With lingring poysons of themselues too strong,
But that their working God put off so long;
That darker deeds (by this) the light may try,
Which now perhaps in worser bosomes lye.
To this Inditement holding vp my hand,
(Fettered with Terrors more then Irons I stand▪)
And being askd what to the Bill I say,
Guilty I cry. O dreadfull Sessions-Day!

His third for raising of Spirits &c.

IN rushes then a heape of Accusations,
For all those Godlesse damn'd Abhominations:
Rais'd by the black Art, and a Coniurers spelles:
As to call Spirits euen from the deepest Hells,
To fetch back theeues that with stoln goods are gone,
And calculate natiuities: such a one
Credulity of fooles and women made me,
And to that glorious infamy betraide me.
A Cunning man, a Wise man were my stile,
When I both plaid the Foole and Knaue the while.
Art knew I none, nor did I euer reach
A bough of learnings tree; what I did teach
To others, or did practise, it was all
Cheating, false, apish, diabollicall.
To this being likewise ask'd, what I can say,
I guilty cry. O dreadfull Sessions day!
This Diuells coate to my body made I fit,
Braue was the out side, thrid-bare was the wit.

His Iudgment.

FOr these thick Stygian streams in which th'ast swō
Thy guilt hath on the laid this bitter doome;
Thy loath'd life on a tree of shame must take
A leaue compeld by Law, er'e old age make
Her signed pass-port ready. Thy offence,
No longer can for daies on earth dispense
Time blot thy name out of this bloody roule,
And so the Lord haue mercy on thy soule.

Hee was executed the 9. of December. 1615.

Imprinted at London for J. T.

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