I have been tried for wilful murder,
No power on earth can me now save,
I am doomed to die, my time’s approaching,
And I must lie in a silent grave.
Now I, alas! must die for murder,
Oh, how awful is my doom,
Richard Bishop, one and twenty,
In youth and vigour, health and bloom.
Alfred Cartwright was my neighbour,
We both at Forest Hill did dwell,