V.
Next make no Noyse, nor talk, Until th'art past a Narrow Glade, Where Light does only break the Shade; 'Tis a Murderers Walk. Observing this thou need'st not fear, He sleeps the Day or Wakes elsewhere. Though there's no Clock or Chime, The Hour he did his Crime, His Soul awakes, His Conscience quakes And warns him that's the Time.