Page:Excellent new song, called Willie Wastle.pdf/6

 A gold ring from her finger,

as I was passing by,

She slipt into my pocket,

and for it I must die.

My Mistress swore I robb’d her,

and quickly I was brought.

Before a grave old justice,

to answer for my fault.

Long time I pleaded innocence

but it was no avail;

She swore so sore against me

that I was lent to jail.

Its now the last assizes

are drawing on apace.

And presently the judges

will on me sentence pass.

From the place of confinement

they brought me to the tree,

So woe to my mistress

For she has ruin’d me.

All you that stand around me,

my wretched fate to see,

Don't glory in my downsal;

I pray you pity me,

Believe me I am quite innocent,

I bid the world adieu;

Farewell, my pretty Polly

I die for love of you.