A wretched man upon the tree,
My time is come, and I must be soon,
A prey to worms in the silent tomb.
When I was scarce eighteen years of age,
As ploughman to Mr Edge I did engage,
He unto me was both good and kind,
But murder entered my wicked mind.
She would’t give me beer enough for weeks,
When to take her life I a plan did seek,
I pointed the gun one fatal day,