The life and death of M. Geo: Sands, who after many enor- mous crimes by him committed, with Jones and Gent his confederates, was executed at Tyburne on Wednesday the 6 of September, 1626. To the tune of Flying Fame.
|
COme hither yongmen and give eare,
|
and good example take,
|
By this which is related here
|
for admonitions sake,
|
Wherein is showne the life and death,
|
of Sands that noted theefe.
|
The reason why he lost his breath,
|
is here declar'd in briefe.
|
That all young men from him may learne
|
to live in better awe,
|
Foule vice from vertue to discerne,
|
according to the law:
|
A wicked life this caitiffe led,
|
rejecting vertues lore,
|
The grace of God from him was fled,
|
all good he did abhorre.
|
Since first he came to any strength,
|
he practis'd nought but stealing,
|
Which brought a shamefull death at length
|
for his ungracious dealing,
|
He alwayes hath himselfe maintain'd
|
by base sinister courses,
|
And oftentimes hath beene araign'd
|
by Law, for stealing horses.
|
Yet still it was his lucke to scape,
|
which hardned him in evill,
|
From theft to murder, and to rape,
|
suborned by the Devill,
|
His wicked heart so bent to sin,
|
in villany tooke pride,
|
There lived scarce the like of him,
|
in all the Land beside.
|
His name so infamous was growne
|
to all both far and neere,
|
And he tooke pride to have it knowne,
|
as by him did appeare.
|
For when he was araign'd of late,
|
at the Tribunall seat,
|
He seemed to exhilerate,
|
at his offences great.
|
And boasted that he oftentimes
|
had scap't the fatall cord,
|
For stealing horses, and such crimes,
|
as high wayes doe afford,
|
And with a braving impudence,
|
he did the Bench outface,
|
Not shewing any reverence,
|
to any in that place.
|
The facts he was indited for,
|
were three enornous sinnes,
|
Which God and nature doth abhor,
|
the least damnation winnes,
|
Without the speciall grace of God,
|
for which he never sought,
|
Nor never seemed to be sad,
|
for that which he had wrought.
|
The Maid that on Saint James his day,
|
was found neere Holborne dead,
|
Tis [t]hought this wretch did make away,
|
if all be true that's sed.
|
From her he tooke away twelve pound,
|
and then to ma[k]e all sure,
|
He strangled her, as she was found,
|
his safety to procure.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part. To the same tune.
|
BUt no such crimes can be conceal'd,
|
old time will find them out,
|
And have them to the world reveal'd,
|
and publisht all about,
|
As this strange murder came to light,
|
by Sands his owne confession,
|
When as he sought with all his might,
|
to act a foule transgression,
|
Upon the body of a Maid,
|
whom he perforce did ravish,
|
If she oppos'd his will he said
|
with speeches somewhat lavish:
|
That if she did deny to yeeld
|
to him, hee'd serve her so,
|
As he did one in Holborne field
|
not very long agoe.
|
To this foule sin of ravishment
|
he likewise did seduce
|
Another youngman, whose consent
|
gave ayd to this abuse.
|
For which by law he hath his doome,
|
to suffer shamefully,
|
Take heed young men how you do come
|
into leud company.
|
For if young Jones had never seene
|
this wicked Sands his face,
|
He surely now had living beene,
|
but wanting Gods good grace,
|
He was allured by his meanes
|
to live by lawlesse stealth,
|
Thus to maintaine strong drink & queanes
|
he robd the commonwealth.
|
Some other men of good regard,
|
he did to robbery draw,
|
All these with him in death have shar'd,
|
according to the Law.
|
But he the chiefe occasion was
|
of these same youngmens ends,
|
Whose deaths have brought to wofull passe
|
their parents and their friends.
|
Among the rest one father Jones,
|
an honest ancient man,
|
With lachrimable teares bemones
|
the losse of his owne son.
|
But Sands hath run so [w]ild a race,
|
that few bewaile his death,
|
How many flockt with joy to'th place
|
where he did lose his breath.
|
His father named Sir George Sands,
|
when by his carelesse dealing,
|
He had quite wasted goods and lands,
|
did live long time by stealing:
|
And with his wicked Lady wife,
|
did rob the high way side,
|
For which at length he lost his life,
|
and by base hanging dyde.
|
Thus both the father and the sonne
|
did end their lives alike,
|
The Lady yet hath scapt that death,
|
and sorrow doth her strike.
|
God grant her life may now be such,
|
that men of her may say,
|
Her life was leud, yet now shee's prov'd
|
a convert at last day.
|
Loe here you see a fearfull end,
|
of Sir George Sands his sonne,
|
Let every one a warning take,
|
and better courses runne:
|
Which to effect let us all pray
|
to him that gave us breath,
|
That of his mercy he'll us keepe
|
from such untimely death.
|
The following lines Jones writ with his owne
|
hand, a little before his death.
|
To me death is not death, but life for ever.
|
My joy in heaven is, which endeth never.
|
Lord thou hast promist to the penitent,
|
That thou wilt save him if he doe repent:
|
And now most gratious Lord, I crave of thee.
|
Mercy for him that hath contemned thee,
|
I am a sinner (Lord) thou knowst I am,
|
And full of ill, above an'other man,
|
Yet am I free from'th fault for which I dye,
|
But have transgrest the Lawes most hainously.
|
Oh save my soule, O Lord of thee I crave,
|
Let that mount up, though body rot in grave.
|
|
|
|
|