And cut his head off at three licks,
Yet of his death he was right vain,
Gave his neck-cutter guineas ten.
His coffin was made super-fine,
Its handles all like gold did shine.
In Roman faith he liv’d and pray’d,
And in that sort of faith he dy’d:
All seeming repentance he declin’d
As in Purgatory to be refin’d:
And had salvation so a cooking,