Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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B00588
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The vvofull lamentation of William Purcas, vvho for murtherin [sic] his mother at Thaxted in Essex was executed at Chelmsford. To the tune of, The rich merchant.
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Purcas, William.
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1624
(1624)
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STC 20509.7; Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.7[444]
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2,063
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2
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The vvofull Lamentation of William Purcas vvho for murtherin his Mother at Thaxted in Essex was executed at Chelmsford To the tune of The rich Merchant THe Swan before her death most pleasantly doth sing But I a heavie hearted note with teares my hands doe wring With teares my hands doe wring yet not a teare for death For I am weary of my life desiring losse of breath No feares for death I shed but for my sinnes I mourne Oh for that sin that makes me wish I never had béen borne I never had béen borne mercy good Lord I crave Oh would my mothers tender womb had béen my timelesse grave Ah me that very word strikes through my wounded heart The name of Mother oh my soule doth aggravate my smart Doth aggravate my smart and much increase my woe Ne'r villaine did so vile a déed as I have done I know Oh now alas I know but now alas too late Drinke then depriv'd me of my sense and of my humane state Oh that detested Vice is that we should detest A thousand thousand times I curse though once I lov'd it best Yea once I lov'd it well oh too too well indéed For that I did in drinke ore-gone my woe-tyr'd soule doth bléed For this foule spotted fault my mother many a time Would gently chide me would wish me leave this loathed crime Shée'd tell me 't was a sinne that many sinnes did feed As swearing whoring and such like and true she said indeed With teares she oft did say a wicked end 't will have Therefore my son doe thou take héed take heed of it I crave With heavie heart she thus would seeme to turne my minde But slightly I de regard her words which now too true I finde Her Hony words to me more bitter were than gall I tooke her for my foe when she was most my friend of all Shée'd speake to me in love I 'de answer her in rage Without all feare or reverence of title or of age Thus oft with words wée'd part till good with bad I crost But at the last in drinking rage my wit and sense I lost Her words I would not heare in rage I drew my knife To take deare life away from her by whom I had my life The sight of which did make her heart much sorrow féele Then as I should have done to her she unto me did knéele And on her knées did beg that I her life would spare And 't were but for my soule on which she pray'd me have a care Oh spare me sonne she said forget not who I am Thy aged Mother doe not then thy eares against me dam. Alas how canst thou sonne endure to sée me knéele And beg wéep and wring my hands and no compassion féele For telling thée thy fault and wishing thée to leave I pray thée doe not desperately me of my life bereave Thus knéeling would she beg and begging weep apace And weeping she would wring her hands in lamentable case Yet nothing was I mov'd with all her piteous moane My heart for her did féele no griefe but was as hard as stone The second part To the same tune THus stubborne did I stand against my Mother deare This second Part the bloody part discoursed you shall heare Now now oh now againe full heavily I sing And in relation of my woe both heart and hands I wring For that I now shall tell will draw forth brinish teares From any that have humane hearts or my laments that heares Her kind intreats I crost with bitter words and oathes Such as the wicked love to heare such as the vertuous loathes And after all these wandring words with Hels prepared knife I quickly wounded her to death from whom I had my life Viâ—e Nero I have read his Mother ript to see The place where he an Embrion lay O foule impietie Yet none more vile than this than this that I have done Oh never did there ever live so impious a sonne Cain branded was a Slave for murthering of his Brother Oh what am I then what am I for murthering of my Mother Aye me my Mother â—eare that bitter names did prove In bearing me and ever since full dearely did me love Full dearely did me love as any Mother could And carefull was she still for me as any Mother should Her best in all she did still working for my good Yet all her paine and care I quit with shedding of her blood With shedding of her blood her kindnesse I did quit By the Devill goaded on to do 't even in my drunken fit All you that take delight in this abhorred Vice The end of it come finde of me and learne to be more wise This staines my soule as much as any sinne of seven That blacks she soule that we should keep most faire and fit for Heaven So long is a man a man as Reason he retaines But Reason gone he is no man that shape 's but little gaines If man be then no man when Reason is away Man is no man when he is drunke for Drinke doth Reason sway O what 's a Drunkard then of Reason dispossest As other creatures reasonlesse he is a brutish Beast And thus by me take heed of Drunkennesse I end O flie this Vice and see what sinnes doe not this Vice attend For that I did in drinke now I am here to dye Ten thousand deaths I have deserv'd for this impietie Thus sorry for my sinne I pray that all may mend And Christ I pray receive my soule after my shamefull end FINIS Printed at London for Francis Coules dwelling in the Old-Baily