The Unnatural Husband:
OR, THE
Murderer Rewarded with Justice:
Being the last Lamentation of Edmund Allen, who cruelly Poyson'd his own
Wife, under the pretence of more than usual Love, for which he was Arrain'd and
found Guilty, and accordinly Executed at Tyburn, on the 19th of July, 1695.
To the Tune, Russel's Farewel, etc. Licensed according to Order.
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IN sad lamenting sighs and tears,
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my hours slide away,
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And nothing else by Grief appears,
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before me now this day:
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A guilty Conscience tells me now,
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this Death's too good for me,
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Which Law and Justice does alow,
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since, Wife, I poyson'd thee.
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Alas, the wicked Life I led,
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has brought me to this Death,
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Now with a heart of fear and dread,
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I must refine my Breath;
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The hand of Justice, I declare,
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I come to punish me,
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[?]or Love, I did thy Life ensnare,
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and straightways Poyson'd thee.
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Was I not cruel to my Dear,
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when she was great with Child?
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For of a truth it will appear,
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I having her revil'd;
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I threw her from a window high,
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which did her sore afright,
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And to compleat my villany,
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I Poyson'd her out-right.
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She was a kind and vertuous Wife,
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to her malicious Foe;
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I weep to think I sought the Life,
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of her that lov'd me so:
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My heart was prone to wickedness,
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but now it seems to bleed,
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For to the World I do confess,
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I Poyson'd her indeed.
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With many kicks and bruises too,
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I sought her life's decay,
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Now when I found that would not do,
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I took the other way:
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With seeming love to her I came,
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to work this base design,
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And there I Poyson'd, to my shame,
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that loving Wife of mine.
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I marry'd her with riches store,
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a vertuous Wife was she;
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She was, I do declare therefore,
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too good a Wife for me,
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Who follow'd wanton Women then,
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which did my Dear anoy,
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But sure I was the worst of Men,
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who could her Life destroy.
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Lewd Harlots has my ruin been,
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proving my overthrow[,]
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But now the just reward of sin,
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I am to undergo;
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The which I eagerly persu'd,
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for want of grace or fear;
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Thus for the sake of Harlots lew'd,
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I did destroy my Dear.
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A lawful Wife I did forsake,
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and was to harlots kind,
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Who like the gaudy painted Snake,
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has left a sting behind,
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Upon my very Conscience still,
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the wrath of God I fear,
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For that I did destroy and kill
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my kind and loving Dear.
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Let Men take warning now by me,
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repent of what is past,
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Shun wanton Harlots company,
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least ruin comes at last;
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For I a sinful Life did lead,
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which brings a Death severe,
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Yet I the same deserve indeed,
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that have destroy'd my Dear.
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My dismal state I do condole,
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and well I may, for why,
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The guilt that lies upon my soul,
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makes me afraid to die:
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But Lord, let me thy smiles behold,
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thy favours I implore,
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For tho my sins are manifold,
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thy Mercies Lord are more.
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