(No crape had hid his face)
Imprison'd, tried, condemn'd to die!
Soon run was Robert's race.
Since short the time the laws allow
To murderers doom'd to die,
How earnest shou'd the suppliant wretch
To Heaven for mercy cry!
But he, alas! no mercy sought,
Tho' summon'd to his fate;
The Cart drew near the Gallows Tree,