A Warning for all Murderers.
A most rare, strange, and wonderfull accident, which by Gods just judgement was brought to passe, not farre from Rithin in Wales, and showne upon three most wicked persons, who had secretly and cunningly murdered a young Gentleman named David Williams, that by no meanes it could be knowne, and how in the end it was revenged by a childe of five yeeres old, which was in his Mothers wombe, and unborne when the deed was done.
To the tune of, Wigmores Galliard.
GIve eare unto my story true,
you gracelesse men on earth:
Which any way in secret séeke
your neighbours timelesse death.
Not many pleasant Summers past
this wicked worke was done,
Which thrée accursed kinsmen wrought
against their Vnckles sonne.
A kind and courteous Gentleman,
his aged Fathers joy,
The onely heire into his Lands
that should his place enjoy.
His envious Nephewes gaping still,
his day of death to sée,
Thought every yéere that he did live,
seven yéer [...]s and more to bée.
Because this gentle Gentleman,
once being laid in grave,
Their aged Vnckle being dead,
they should the living have:
The thought whereof did often make
their hearts with joy abound,
For that they knew the living worth
each yéere an hundred pound.
But when they saw this toward Youth
live up to mans estate,
And to himselfe hath likewise chose
a faithfull loving mate,
Then were they out of hope and heart,
but most, when they did sée
His beautious wife in little space,
most big with child to bée.
Then did the Divell intice them straight
to murther, death, and blood,
Thereby to purchase to themselves
their long desired good.
A hundred waies they did devise
this Gentleman to kill:
But yet his wife being big with child,
stuck in their stomack still.
If we should slay the one, they said,
and let the other live,
No comfort to our hearts desire
that déed at all would give:
The brat new bred within her wombe,
none can for heire deny:
Therefore 'tis méet and requisite,
that both of them should die.
And for to blind the eyes of men,
strange garments had they got,
VVhich to performe that wicked déed
they onely did allot.
And after this most bad pretence,
the Gentleman each day,
Still felt his heart to throb and faint,
and sad he was alway.
His sléepe was full of dreadfull dreames,
in bed where he did lie,
His heart was heavie in the day,
yet knew no reason why,
And oft as he did sit at meate,
his nose most suddenly,
Would spring and gush out crimson blood,
and straight it would be dry.
It chanced so upon a time,
as he his supper ate,
His eyes and heart so heavie were,
that he slept at his meate,
Now fie, then quoth his loving wife,
and woke him presently,
Why is my Deare so drowsie now?
quoth he, I know not, I.
Good wife, he said, let us goe walke
about our Land a while,
I shall be wakened thorowly,
when I have walkt a mile.
His wife agréed, and forth they went,
most kindly arme in arme:
But suddenly were they espied,
that thought on little harme.
At length thrée sturdy men they met,
in Souldiers tattered ragges,
With swords fast girt unto their sides,
which tangled in their jagges:
Their faces smear'd with durt and soote,
in lothsome beastly wise,
With black thrumb'd hats upon their heads
as is the Germanes guise.
And when they saw no persons nie,
those helpelesse couple then,
They wounded sore in cruell sort,
like most accursed men,
And in the thickest of the corne,
which in that place was hie,
They drag'd the murdred bodies then,
and so away did hie.
And soone they shifted off their rags,
and hid them by the way,
And weaponlesse they homeward went,
clad in their owne array.
Long did the silly servants waite
their Masters comming home,
Which dead within the field did lie,
all bath'd in bloody fome.
FINIS.
Printed at London for Henry Gosson, dwelling upon London Bridge, neere the Gate.
A VVarning for all Murderers.
The second part of the Murder of David Williams, and his Wife being great with childe, which was revenged by a childe of five yeeres old, which was in his Mothers wombe, and unborne when the deed was done.
To the tune of, Wigmores Galliard.
AT length, when dark and gloomy clouds
had shadowed all the skie,
The servants wandred up and downe,
their Master to espie:
And as they past along the place
where these were lately slaine,
Within the corne they heard one grone,
as heart would breake in twaine.
And running straight to search and sée,
who gave this gastly sound:
Their Master dead their Mistris stab'd,
yet living there they found,
In bitter pangs in travell then
this woefull woman lay,
And was delivered of a Sonne,
before the breake of day.
Then died she incontinent,
no memory had she
For to descry the murtherers,
nor found they could not be.
They both together buried were,
the child to Nurse was set,
Which thriv'd and prosper'd passing well,
no sicknesse did him let.
But now behold Gods judgement just:
the truth I shall you tell,
Ere this child was seven quarters old,
this strange event befell:
One of the murtherers being set
at Tables on a day,
The Nurse did chance to bring this child
within that place to play.
The child under the Table got,
unthought of any one,
And bit his Cousin by the legge,
hard at the ankle bone,
Which by no helpe nor Art of man
could èver healed be,
But sweld and rotted in such sort,
that thereof dyed he.
Not full a twelve-month after this,
this child did chance to be,
Whereas the second murderer
was drinking merrily:
He tooke one of the biggest pinnes
that stuck about his brest,
And thrust it in his Kinsmans thigh,
where then the signe did rest.
Which done, he laughing ran his way,
the wound did bléed amaine:
By no meanes could they stanch the blood,
nor ease his extreme paine.
The griefe and anguish was so great,
which thereof did procéed,
That ere thrée dayes were fully past,
the man to death did bléed.
The child with rods was swing'd full sore,
for this unhappy act,
Yet never would forgivenesse aske
for his committed fact.
Thus past it on, untill the time
this child was five yéeres old:
The other murderer living still
with conscience bad, behold,
He never after saw the child,
but he would shun the place,
The child did never looke on him,
but with a frowning face:
And stones at him still would he fling,
where ere he did him méete:
Which made the neighbours wonder much
that oftentimes did sée't.
In Harvest next this little child,
with other boyes beside,
Went to the Fields, and open mouth'd,
this man asléepe they spide:
The child having a bramble sticke,
within his hand to play,
Did thrust it downe his Cousins throat,
a sleeping as he lay.
The man therewith being soone awak't,
did strive to pull it out:
And he thereby did rent and teare
his wind-pipe round about:
Which being found incurable,
as he lay in his bed,
His murderous déed he did confesse,
as you before have read.
FINIS.
Printed at London for Henry Gosson dwelling upon London Bridge, neere the Gate.