A Serious copy of
Verses on the late Miss
Wray.
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YE tender fair come hear a ditty,
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Tragical my tale does run,
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Or a murder mores the pity,
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Was at Covent Garden, done,
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On a kind and pretty woman,
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By a Minister were told,
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For her constancy he killd her,
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Not to rob her of her gold.
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It seems he had his education,
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At the University,
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And first of all bore a commision,
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But no promotion like to be,
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Four years ago the gownd assumed,
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Perswaded by his friends they say,
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Then cast his eyes as were informed,
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On the beauty of Miss Wray.
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To her he oft paid his addresses,
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But never could obtain his end,
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She told the Earl, her noble keeper,
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Who was to him a worthy friend,
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But this was nothing all he wanted,
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Was Miss Wray for whore or wife
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But as neither could be granted,
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Was resolvd to have her life.
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He with two loaded pistols met her,
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Just as she came from the play,
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Rushd up and not a word did utter,
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With one he took her life away,
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The other for himself designed,
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But his life is spaird you see,
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Not worthy of a death so sudden,
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But a public sight to be.
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Now in Newgate is confined,
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Till his trial does come on,
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Its hoped to death hell be resigned,
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Alas! alas! unhappy man,
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Who did not look a little ferther,
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Solid happiness to see,
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But must go to do a murder,
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His own murderer for to be.
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See a mother none more kinder,
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From five children robbd of life,
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The character shes left behind her,
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May be copyd by each wife,
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Friendly courteous and oblinging,
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Unto all came in her way,
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Is the character ye fair ones,
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Of the late worthy Miss Wray.
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