INSCRIPTION

For the Door of the Cell in Newgate where Mrs. Brownrigg, the 'Prentice-cide, was confined previous to her Execution.

For one long term, or e'er her trial came,

Here Brownrigg linger'd. Often have these cells

Echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice

She scream'd for fresh Geneva. Not to her

Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street,

St. Giles, its fair varieties expand;

Till at the last, in slow-drawn cart she went

To execution. Dost thou ask her crime?

She whipp'd two female 'prentices to death,

And hid them in the coal-hole. For her mind

Shap'd strictest plans of discipline. Sage schemes!

Such as Lycurgus taught, when at the shrine

Of the Orthyan Goddess he bade flog

The little Spartans; such as erst chastised

Our Milton, when at college. For this act

Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws! But time shall come

When France shall reign, and laws be all repealed!