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 No malice in my heart is found,

To any man above the ground;

Now, all good people that speak of me,

You may say I died for my liberty.

Although in chains you see me fast,

No frown upon my friends you'll cast,

For my relations were not to blame,

And I brought my parents to grief and shame.

Now, all you ramblers in mourning go,

For the Prince of Ramblers is lying low;

And all you maidens who love the game,

Put on your mourning veils again.

And all your powers of music chaunt,

To the memory of my dying rant—

A song of melancholy sing;

Till you make the very rafters ring.

Farewell relations, and friends also,

The time is nigh that I must go;

As for foes, I have but one,

But to the samosame [sic] I've done no wrong.

But these wild and wicked thoughts soon left him. Every body was very kind to him. This kindness was an awful lesson to him, but it did his heart good, for it was the sorest punishment he met with in this world. He was visited by several clergymen, they prayed much with him and for him. He told them he had no words to pray, but they taught him, made him read the Bible, and gave him hopes of mercy in Heaven—at least, such hopes as a poor miserable sinner like him could have, for his sins stuck close to him.