 | To Rash Iudgement, Tom Foole, and his fellowes |  |
Well Shot Death.
One at his Neighbours house did ayme,And ouer's head, shot for the same,
Which greedy villaine would not cease,
Till he had got away the Lease:
Scarse was the Writing seal'd and dry,
But Death, comes for him, he must dye:
And now his conscience full of woe,
Cryes out, to Hell his soule must goe:
And that for him was no more grace,
Then was for those in Deuils case.
| To Rash Iudgement, Tom Foole, and his fellowes | |