A true Relation of one Susan Higges, dwelling in Risborrow a
Towne in Buckinghamshire, and how shee lived 20. yeeres, by robbing
on the High-wayes, yet unsuspected of all that knew her, till at last,
comming to Messeldon, there robbing a woman; which woman knew
her and called her by her name: now when she saw she was betrayed, she
killed her, and standing by her while she gave three groanes, she spat three drops of blood
in her face, which never could be washt out; by which shee was knowne and executed
for the aforesaid murder at the Assises in Lent at Brickhill.
To the tune of, The worthy London Prentice.
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TO mourne for my offences,
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and former passed sinnes,
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This sad and dolefull story,
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my heavie heart begins:
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Most wickedly I spent my time,
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devoid of godly grace:
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A lewder woman never livd,
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I thinke in any place.
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Neere Buckingham I dwelled,
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and Susan Higges by name,
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Well thought of by good Gentlemen,
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and Farmers of good fame:
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Where thus, for twenty yeeres at least,
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I livd in gallant sort:
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Which made the Countrey marvell much,
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to heare of my report.
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My state was not maintained,
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(as you shall understand)
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By good and honest dealings,
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nor labour of my hand:
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But by deceit and coozening shifts,
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the end whereof, we see
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Hath ever beene repaid with shame,
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and ever like to be.
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My servants were yong country girles,
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brought up unto my mind,
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By nature faire and beautifull,
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and of a gentle kinde:
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Who with their sweet entising eyes,
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did many Youngsters move
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To come by night unto my house,
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in hope of further love.
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But still at their close meetings,
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(as I the plot had laid)
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I stept in still at unawares,
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while they the wantons plaid,
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And would in question bring their names,
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except they did agree
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To give me mony for this wrong,
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done to my house and me.
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This was but petty coozenage,
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to things that I have done:
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My weapon by the high way side,
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hath me much money won:
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In mens attire I oft have rode,
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upon a Gelding stout,
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And done great robberies valiantly,
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the Countries round about.
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I had my Scarfes and Vizords,
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my face for to disguise:
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Sometimes a beard upon my chin,
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to blind the peoples eyes:
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My Turky Blade, and Pistols good,
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my courage to maintaine:
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Thus tooke I many a Farmers purse,
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well cramd with golden gaine.
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Great store of London Merchants,
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I boldly have bid stand,
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And shewed my selfe most bravely,
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a Woman of my hand:
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You ruffling Roysters every one,
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in my defence say then
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Wee women still for gallant minds
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may well compare with men.
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The second part, To the same tune.
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BUt if so be it chanced,
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the Countries were beset,
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With hue, and cryes, and warrants,
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into my house I get:
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And I so being with my Maids,
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would cloake the matter so,
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That no man could by any meanes,
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the right offender know.
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Yet God that still most justly,
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doth punish every vice,
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Did bring unto confusion
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my fortunes in a trice:
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For by a murther all my sinnes
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were strangely brought to light,
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And such desert I had by law,
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as Justice claimd by right.
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Upon the Heath of Misseldon,
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I met a woman there,
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And robd her, as from Market,
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homewards she did repaire,
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Which woman cald me by my name,
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and said that she me knew;
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For which even with her lives deare blood,
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my hands I did imbrew.
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But after I had wounded,
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this woman unto death,
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And that her bleeding body,
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was almost reft of breath,
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She gave a groane, and there withall,
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did spit upon my face,
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Three drops of blood, that never could
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be wiped from that place.
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For after I returned
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unto my house againe.
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The more that I it washd,
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it more appeared plaine:
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Each houre I thought that beasts and birds,
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this murther would reveale,
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Or that the ayre so vile a deed,
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no longer would conceale.
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So heavie at my conscience,
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this wofull murther lay,
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That I was soone enforced,
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the same for to bewray,
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And to my servants made it knowne,
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as God appointed me:
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For blood can never secret rest,
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nor long unpunisht be.
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My servants to the Justices,
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declard what I had said;
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For which I was attached,
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and to the Jayle conveyd,
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And at the Sises was condemnd,
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and had my just desert:
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Even such a death let all them have
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that beare so false a heart.
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So farewell earthly pleasure,
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my quaintance all adue,
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With whom I spent the treasure,
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which causeth me to rue.
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Leave off your wanton pastimes,
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lascivious and ill,
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Which without Gods great mercy,
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doth soule and body kill.
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Be warned by this story,
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you ruffling Roysters all:
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The higher that you climbe in sinne,
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the greater is your fall:
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And since the world so wicked is,
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let all desire grace,
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Grant Lord that I the last may be,
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that runneth such a race.
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