Good people, all I pray give ear
To these few lines I write.
'Tis of a horrid deed was done
Happened on Monday Night.
The nineteenth of March as you shall hear
Eighteen hundred and twenty seven,
In Ashbury Parish on Wadland Down
There this fatal blow was given.
It's of a little boy we find
About thirteen years of age
And a young woman, Aunt to him,
Both left this worldly stage.
'Twas by a cruel murderer's hand
The blood of both was spilt
Who now before the Judge must stand
To answer for his guilt.
Before the murder he had done
He was of good report,
He seldom to the alehouse went
And gambling did resent.
He was in his temper meek
And lived a mosdest life
Before the passions of his love
Broke out in endless stgrife.
He loved a female to that degree
And he had no return
So, in his breast the fire of lust
At last began to burn.
Only by love at first it was
The awful work begun
But when he found 'twas all in vain
He then the murder done.
On this young woman, Sarah Glass
About twenty eight years old.
She lived a very pious life
As I have often been told.
In health and strength from home she went
And thought so to return
But in their road death laid a snare
And in it they did spurn.
After this murder he had done
Back to a furze break he went,
And there he lay two nights and days
With sorrows to lament.
The third day went he into a linhay
And in the loft he lay
And then he saw, as you may known
The corpses carried away.
And so on and so on for many more verses of this ilk.