SONG LXI.

THE THIEF AND CORDELIER.

BY MATHEW PRIOR ESQ

Tune, King John and the abbot of Canterbury.

WHO

'HO has e'er been at Paris muft needs know the Grève,

The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave;

Where honour and juftice most oddly contribute
To eafe heroes pains by a halter and gibbet.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.

There Death breaks the fhackles which force had put on, And the hangman completes what the judge had begun ; There the squire of the pad, and the knight of the post, Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes no more crofs'd.

Derry down, &c.

Great claims are there made, and great fecrets are known; And the king, and the law, and the thief has his own:

But

my hearers cry out, what a deuce doft thou ail? Put off thy reflections, and give us thy tale. Derry down, &c.

'Twas there, then, in civil refpect to harsh laws,
And for want of falfe witness to back a bad caufe,
A Norman, though late, was oblig'd to appear;
And who to affift but a grave Cordelier!

• Derry down, &c.

The

The squire, whofe good grace was to open the scene,
Seem'd not in great hafte that the show should begin;
Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart;

And often took leave, but was loth to depart.
Derry down, &c.

What frightens you thus, my good fon? fays the priest;
You murder'd, are forry, and have been confefs'd:
O father! my forrow will scarce fave my bacon;

For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken.
Derry down, &c.

Pough! prithee ne'er trouble thy head with fuch fancies;
Rely on the aid you fhall have from Saint Francis :
If the money you promis'd be brought to the cheft,
You have only to die; let the church do the reft.
Derry down, &c.

And what will folks fay, if they fee you afraid?
It reflects upon me, as I knew not my trade:
Courage, friend! to-day is your period of forrow,
And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow.
Derry down, &c.

To-morrow! our hero replied in a fright;

He that's hang'd before noon ought to think of to-night.

Tell your beads, quoth the priest, and be fairly trufs'd up; For you furely to-night shall in paradise fup.

Derry down, &c.

Alas!

Alas! quoth the squire, howe'er fumptuous the treat,
Parbleu! I fhall have little ftomach to eat:

I should therefor efteem it great favour and grace,
Would you be fo kind as to go in my place.
Derry down, &c.

That I would, quoth the father, and thank you to boot;
But our actions, you know, with our duty muft fuit :
The feast I propos'd to you, I cannot tafte;

For this night, by our order, is mark'd for a fast.
Derry down, &c.

Then, turning about to the hangman, he said,
Dispatch me, I prithee, this troublesome blade:
For thy cord and my cord both equally tie;
And we live by the gold for which other men die.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.

I'

SONG LXII.

N Tyburn-road a man there liv'd
A juft and honest life;

And there he might have lived still,
If fo had pleas'd his wife.

But fhe, to vicious ways inclin'd,

A life most wicked led;

With tailors, and with tinkers too,

She oft defil'd his bed.

Full

Full twice a day to church he went,

And fo devout would be,

Sure never was a faint on earth,
If that no faint was he.

This vex'd his wife unto the heart;
She was of wrath fo full,
That, finding no hole in his coat,
She pick'd one in his scull.

But then her heart 'gan to relent,
And griev'd she was full fore;
That, quarter to him for to give,
She cut him into four.

All in the dark and dead of night
Thefe quarters fhe convey'd,
And in a ditch, at Marybone,
His marrowbones fhe laid.

His head, at Westminster, fhe threw
All in the Thames fo wide;
Says fhe, my dear, the wind fets fair,
And you may have the tide.

But Heav'n, whofe pow'r no limit knows,

On earth, or in the main,

Soon caus'd this head for to be thrown

Upon the land again.

This head being found, the juftices
Their heads together laid,

And all agreed, there must have been
Some body to this head.

But, fince no body could be found,
High mounted on a shelf,
They e'en fet up this head to be
A witness for itself.

Next, that it no felf-murder was,
The cafe itself explains;

For no man could cut off his head,
And throw it in the Thames.

Ere many days had gone and pafs'd,
The deed, at length, was known;
And Kath'rine fhe confefs'd, at last,
The fact to be her own.

God profper long our noble king,
Our lives and fafeties all;
And grant that we may take advice
By Kath'rine Hayeses fall *.

* She was burned alive for this murder, 9th May, 1726. The ballad will scarcely be thought void of merit: but it is to be hoped that its author is the only one who ever attempted to be witty on fo fhocking a fubject,

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