Poor Old Baldey on Newmarket Hill,
I with my gun did shoot him through,
His harmless blood I did there spill.
And then his pockets soon I rifled,
And took from him all his gold,
I left him dead where he was found,
A sight most shocking to behold.
My victim then, I from him fled,
But the eye of God did on me frown,
Oh, what a wretch I must have been,