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Song XV. FRANK FEARNE.
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Song XV. FRANK FEARNE.

Mortals all in town or city,
Pay attention to this truth;
Let your bowels yearn with pity,
Towards a poor deluded youth.
Tho' with Satan's vile injunctions,
I was forced to comply,
Now it causes sad reflections,
Since I am condemed to die.

19

Andrews, O that name! it pierces,
Thro' my very inmost soul:
And my torments much increases,
In this glomy condemn'd hole.
At Kirk edge I shot and stab'd him,
Cut his throat and bruis'd his pate,
Of his watch and money robb'd him,
Causes my unhappy fate'
Christians pray that true repentance
May be given a wretch like me.
I acknowledge my just sentence,
Ther's no law can set me free.
Let me make one observation,
Though to sin I've been enslav'd,
Through my Saviour's mediation,
My poor soul may yet be sav'd.
Hark! I'm call'd to execution,
And must bid the world adieu!
'Tis the hour of dissolution,
And my moments are but few.
Let me endless bliss inherit,
Wash me from my guilty stains:
O, receive my precious spirit,
Though my body hang in chains.