[illustration]
[illustration]
••Ist Christians all vnto my song,
'twill moue your hearts to pitty,
••hat bloody murders haue báene done,
〈◊〉〈◊〉 late about the City:
••eáe daily see the brood of Cain,
••••ongst vs euer will remaine.
•• ••urder, lust and murder,
〈◊〉〈◊〉 the foule sinke of sin.
••••••re's scarce a moneth within the yeare,
••••••t murders vile are done,
•• Son, the Father murdereth,
••••e Father kills the Son,
••wixt man and man there's such debate,
••ich in the end brings mortall hate.
〈◊〉〈◊〉murder, &c.
The mother loseth her owne life,
cause she her child doth kill,
••nd some men in their drunkennesse,
••••••ir deare friends blood doth spill,
〈◊〉〈◊〉 many more, through gráedy gaine,
〈◊〉〈◊〉 brother hath the brother slaine.
〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••urder, &c.
〈…〉〈…〉o the story now in hand,
〈◊〉〈◊〉 truth I will declare,
••••••n God leaues man vnto himselfe,
••athan then beware,
〈…〉〈…〉s doth Sherwood truely finde,
〈…〉〈…〉 vnto murder bent his mind.
〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••••d••r, &c.
A man of honest parentage,
traind vp to husbandry,
But weary of that honest life,
to London he did hye:
Where to his dismall wofull Fate,
He chose a Queane for his copesmate.
O murder, &c.
One Canbery Besse in Turnball-street,
on him did cast an eye,
And prayd him to giue her some drinke,
as he was passing by:
O too too soone he gaue consent,
And for the same doth now repent.
O murder, &c.
For by alluring tempting bates,
she sotted so his minde,
That vnto any villany,
fierce Sherwood was inclind,
His coyne all spent he must haue more,
For to content his filthy (Whoore)
O murder, &c.
Much mischiefe then by them was done
in and about the City,
But still they scape unpunished,
(not knowne) more was the pitty,
To deadly sinnes they then did fall,
Not onely robbe but murder all,
O murder, lust and murder,
is the foule sinke of sin.
The first was Master William Loe,
a Gentleman of note,
And cruell Sherwood laid him low
with an inhumane stroke:
Nor birth nor bloud they did regaid,
Yet death for bloud is their reward.
O murder, &c.
One Master Holt of Winsor towre,
a Norwich Factor he,
Walking abroad to take the ayre,
felt next their buchery,
For Sherwood with a fatall blow,
This goodman kill'd, his quean wil so,
O murder, &c.
His cloak, hat, ruffe, from him they ook
eleuen groats also,
And were about his cloathes to stripe,
his shirt, shooes, hose thereto,
But being scard, away they flye,
he hath confest this villany.
O murder, &c.
A vile loose life they still run on,
regarding not their end,
Their hearts still bent to cruelty,
not minding to amend:
They cannot sáe Sathan the deuill,
That drags them vnto all this euill,
O murder, lust and murder,
is the foule sinke of sin.