Improbability, or, The batchelor's dislike to a married life/Betsy Taylor's Lamentation

BETSY TAYLOR'S Lamentation.

IN Highgate as I now do tell,
One Betſy Taylor there did dwell,
Who was a beauty of renown,
But now her roſes are pull'd down.

With Mr Hooker ſhe did reſide,
A young man wiſh'd her for his bride,
They fix'd upon the wedding day,
But all their joys are fled away.

Her brother was a wicked blade,
This poor young girl he did perſuade,
To rob her maſter, wicked deed!
Which makes her tender heart to bleed.

Two hundred pounds in goods they ſtole,
Now Chriſt have mercy on her ſoul;
For they are ta'en and caſt to die,
So in the dreadful cells they lie.

When at the bar this fair maid ſtood,
The tears ran down juſt like a flood,
The roſes from each cheek were fled,
She droop'd, with heart as cold as lead.

When to the bar poor ſoul was brought,
For mercy on her knees ſhe fought,
The Judge unto her then did cry,
There is no help, for you muſt die.

When from the bar they did her take,
With grief her heart was like to break,
Her ſweetheart he was in the court,
His deareſt girl for to ſupport.

When back to priſon they do go,
And they muſt part, O fatal woe,
The ſcene of grief no tongue can tell,
When ſhe was led unto the cell.

With aching heart ſhe now does lie,
Until the day that ſhe muſt die,
When dreſt in white from top to toe,
To meet her fate this maid will go.

So maidens now take warning all,
Reflect upon her wretched fall,
And when you hear the dead bell tole,
Fall on your knees, pray for her ſoul.

O! may her death atonement make,
Chriſt her precious ſoul then take,
Arm her to meet the fatal blow,
When ſhe doth ſink to ſhades below.