 |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
Song XVII. STEVENS & LASTLEY'S EXECUTION.
|
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
 | The songs of Joseph Mather |  |
21
Song XVII. STEVENS & LASTLEY'S EXECUTION.
O Wharton, thou villain, most base,
Thy name must eternally rot;
Poor Stevens and Lastley's sad case
For ever thy conscience will blot.
Those victims, thou wickedly sold,
And into eternity hurl'd,
For lucre of soul sinking gold,
To set thee on foot in the world.
Thy name must eternally rot;
Poor Stevens and Lastley's sad case
For ever thy conscience will blot.
Those victims, thou wickedly sold,
And into eternity hurl'd,
For lucre of soul sinking gold,
To set thee on foot in the world.
Thy house is a desolate place,
Reduc'd to a shell by the crowd,
Destruction pursues thee apace,
While innocent blood cries aloud.
Poor Booth in strong fetters thou'st left
Appointed for Botany Bay,
He is of all comforts bereft,
To die by a hair's breadth each day.
Reduc'd to a shell by the crowd,
Destruction pursues thee apace,
While innocent blood cries aloud.
Poor Booth in strong fetters thou'st left
Appointed for Botany Bay,
He is of all comforts bereft,
To die by a hair's breadth each day.
Depend on't thou never can'st thrive,
Thy sin will e'er long find thee out,
If not whilst thy body's alive,
It will after death, without doubt.
When Stevens and Lastley appears,
Requiring their blood at thy hands,
Tormenting a million of years,
Can't satisfy justice's demands.
Thy sin will e'er long find thee out,
If not whilst thy body's alive,
It will after death, without doubt.
22
Requiring their blood at thy hands,
Tormenting a million of years,
Can't satisfy justice's demands.
Some others were equally vile,
To prompt thee to this wicked work;
In order to share of the spoil,
Thou got by the blood spilt at York.
All are equally guilty with thee,
And as a reward for their pains,
They ought to be hung on a tree,
And then be suspended in chains.
To prompt thee to this wicked work;
In order to share of the spoil,
Thou got by the blood spilt at York.
All are equally guilty with thee,
And as a reward for their pains,
They ought to be hung on a tree,
And then be suspended in chains.
| The songs of Joseph Mather | |