Capt. WHITNEY's Confession:
OR, HIS
Penitent Lamentation,
Under a Sence of a Guilty Conscience, on the Day of
his Execution at the Porter's Block , near Smithfield-Bars, which
was on the First of February , 1693.
To the Tune of, Johnson's Farewel. Licensed according to Order.
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T He fatal day is come at last,
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of sorrow, grief, and shame,
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Which will the fading glory blast,
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of Whitney now by name.
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My wicked life has been the cause
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of this sad destiny;
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For since I broke the Nation's laws,
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'tis just that I should die.
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Here to the world I freely leave
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these lines, my last farewel;
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And though I do not seem to grieve,
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yet conscience, like a hell,
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Does wrack and fill my soul with dread,
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and does against me cry;
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The wicked life which I have led,
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makes me afraid to die.
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The dreadful oaths which I have swore,
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comes fresh into my mind,
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When the Great God I come before,
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shall I a pardon find?
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Who did for sad damnation call,
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when in my villany;
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I under his displeasure fall,
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which makes me fear to die.
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'Tis true, a chearful countenance
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I seeminly do bear,
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But now my most unhappy chance,
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drives me unto dispair;
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Were conscience clear, what would I give,
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all that I have, for why?
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The thoughts of how I here did live,
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makes me afraid to die.
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I robb'd the roads both night and day,
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young harlots to maintain,
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From honest men I took away,
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and gave it gills again;
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Whom I lov'd better than a wife,
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I cannot this deny;
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Yet this perfidious wretched life,
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makes me afraid to die.
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With loaded pistol in my hand,
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myself among the rest,
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Would force the travellers to stand,
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with pistols at their breast,
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Their purses to give up with speed,
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or soon the shot should flie;
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To think of which my heart doth bleed,
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I am afraid to die.
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What though I suffer on a tree,
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it is not that I fear;
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But oh! what will become of me,
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if God should be severe?
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To me who all my days have spent
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with thieves continually,
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And ne'er did in the least repent,
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therefore I fear to die.
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My brother Holland , and the rest
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are gone five days before,
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While I in sorrow am opprest,
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my heart is grieved sore;
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This seems a second death to be,
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and I in sorrow cry,
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And hope you all will pitty me,
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who now at last must die.
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I sigh at my sad destiny,
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my very heart does bleed:
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Alas! why did they flatter me,
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with hopes of being freed?
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Why did they bring me a reprieve?
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O tell me, tell me why?
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Yet I at last the world must leave,
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and be compell'd to die.
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Farewel thou world, I must imbrace
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the bitter pangs of death,
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And here in shame and sad disgrace,
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surrender up my breath;
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For which this day I hither came,
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so sad's my destiny;
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And tho' I startle at the same,
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'tis just that I should die.
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