The mother with her infant dear, and faithful servant maid,
Thousands did besiege the gates, their fate for to enquire,
But in three days from incise wounds, both of them did expire.
’Twill cause the captain many a pang to know their awful doom,
His loving wife and children sent to an untimely tomb,
’Twill make his hair turn grey with grief, no skill their lives could save,
And he did go, borne down with woe, in sorrow to the grave.
But now he’s taken for this deed, bound down in irons strong,
In Kirkdale Jail he now does lie, till his trial it comes on,
May God above receive the souls of those whom he has slain,