Poor Alfred’s friends, will you forgive me,
His father, mother, tender wife,
I him did kill, his blood did spill,
And I pay a forfeit with my life?
And God, look down from heaven upon me,
Forgive the crime that I have done.
I see grim death standing before me,
Saying, Richard Bishop’s glass is run.
Oh, pray, young men, by me take warning,
Remember me and what I done,