( 6 )
Her brother was a wicked blade,
This poor young girl her did perſuade
To rob her Maſter—wick'd deed!
Which made her tender heart to bleed.
Two hundred pounds in goods they ſtole<
O now have mercy on their ſoul!
For they were taken and ⟨caſt⟩ to die
.
And in the dreadful cells they lie!
When at the bar this maid ſtood
The tears ran down juſt like a flood
The roſes from her cheeks were fled.
She droop'd with heart as cold as lead
When to the bar, poor ſoul, was brought.
For mercy on her knees ſhe fought!
The Judge unto her then did cry,
There is no help, for you muſt die.
When from the bar they did her take.
With grief her heart was like to break;
Her ſweetheart he was in the Court,
His deareſt girl for to ſupport.
When, back to priſon they did go,
And they, muſt part—O fatal woe!
The ſcene of grief no tongue can tell,
When ſhe was led into the cell.
