The Last Speech and Dying Words,
CROSS of EDINBURGH
Which was hang'd, drawn and quarter'ed, on Monday the 15th
March, 1756, for the horrid Crime of being an Incum-
brance to the Street.
YOU sons of Scotia, mourn and weep,
Express your grief with sorrow deep ;
Let aged Sires be bath'd in tears,
And ev'ry heart be fill'd with fears,
Let rugged rocks with griefs abound,
And echo's multiply the Sound ;
Let rivers, hills, let woods and plains,
Let morning dews, let winds and rains,
United join to aid my woe,
And loudly mourn my overthrow------
For Arthur's ov'n *, and Edinburgh cross,
Have by new schemers got a toss;
We heels o'er head are tumbled down,
The modern taste is London town.
I was built up in Gothic times,
And have stood several hundred reigns;
Sacred my mem'ry and my name,
For Kings and Queens I did proclaim;
I peace and war did oft declare,
And rous'd my country every where ;
Your ancestors around me walk'd,
Your kings and nobles 'side me talk'd;
And lads and lasses, with delight,
Set tryst with me to meet at night;
No tryster e're was at a loss,
For why, I'll meet you at the cross.
On me great men have lost their lives,
And for a Maiden left their wives.
Low rogues like ways oft got a peg,
With turnip, t-d, or rotten egg,
And when the mob did miss their butt,
I was bedaub'd like any slut.
With loyal men, on loyal days,
I dress'd myself in lovely bays,
And with sweet apples treat the crowd,
While they huzza'd around me loud.
Professions many have I seen,
And never have disturbed been:
I've seen the Tory party slain,
And Whigs exulting o'er the plain;
I' ve seen again the Tories rise,
And with loud shouting pierce the skies,
Then mount the scale, and chace the Whig,
From Pentland-hiIls and Bothwel-brig.
I've seen the covenants by all sworn,
And likeways seen them burnt and torn.
I neutral stood, as peaceful Quaker,
With neither side was I partaker.
I wish my life had longer been,
That I might greater ferlies seen ,
Or else like other things, decay,
Which time alone doth waste away.
But since I now must lose my head,
I at my last this lesson read,
" Tho' wealth, and youth, and beauty shine,
" And all the graces round yon twine.
" Think on your end, nor proud behave,
" There's nothing sure this side the grave."
You jolly youths, with richest wine,
Who drunk my dirge, for your propine,
I do bequeath my lasting boon,
May heav'n preserve you late and soon ;
May royal wine, in royal bowls,
And lovely women, chear your souls,
Till by old age you gently die,
To live immortal in the sky.
To own my faults I have no will,
For I have done both good and ill:
As to the crime for which I die,
To my last gasp, Not guilty, I.
At my destroyers bear no grudge,
Nor do you stain their mason-lodge,
Tho' well may all by-standers see,
That better masons built up me.
The Royal statue in the closs
Will share the fate of me poor cross;
Heavens, earth and seas, all in a range,
Like me will perish for Exchange.
* A piece of very great antiquity, the property of a gentleman near Falkirk, who destroyed it, to build up a mill-dam-head
the river Carrron-But the river (swell'd as it ware with resentment) soon swept it off
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