The Dying Lamentation Of Thomas Randal, who was Executed at Stone-Bridge, on VVednesday the 29th of January for the barbarous Murder Committed on Roger Leavens, Ironmonger. Who is Hang'd in Chains near Stone-Bridge.
To the Tune of Johnsons Farewell.
OH horred, borred is my Crime,
For which I now must dye
And to relate the bloody time,
Of this barbarity,
Would make a Heart of Stone to bleed,
To think upon the Fact,
I am asham'd to name indeed
This bloody, bloody Act.
'Twas at Stone-Bridge not far from Town
Where I did lye in wait,
To rob the very first that come,
But oh unhappy fate,
Instead of Robbing him of Pelf,
With Pistol shot him dead,
And likewise bound his Wife my self,
Then straight from Justice fled.
This wicked deed which I have done
I do repent too late;
My Glass of Life is almost run,
Oh most unhappy Fate:
I must be now this very day
A sad Example made,
I having wrought my Life's decay,
Farewell this bloody Trade.
Oh Leavens, Leavens whom I shot,
And never bid you stand,
I must confess hard was your Lott,
Through my most bloody hand,
I kill'd you dead without one word,
So wicked was my mind,
And God requires blood for blood,
The Law's the same I find:
How bitter is the thoughts of Death,
Which stares with bloody Dart
And gapeth for my latest breath,
When Soul and Body part,
But oh a greater grief then this
Is Conscience does me tell,
That blood hinders my Soul of bliss,
No hopes for me but Hell.
Oh VVomen, VVomen base and rude
'Twas your bad Company,
I follow'd none but what were lew'd
And to them did comply,
For when they did at any time
VVant Money for to rant,
I stuck not then at any crime,
For to supply their want.
Pray you that see my fatal race,
Let all your VVays be good,
Nere be concern'd with VVomen base
Nor yet delight in blood,
For here a shameful Death you see
I justly undergo,
Then pray young Men be warn'd by me
Be no Mans overthrow.
The latter Minute is at hand,
Farewell the VVorld, and all
Of you that now spectators stand,
VVith Prayers [...], and call
On Jesus Christ the Lamb of God,
To interceed for me,
That I may be cleans'd from this blood
I shed so cruelly.
London, Printed and Sold by T. Moore, 1696.