And pity, pity my downfall;
For those double Wood Green murders,
I alas am doom’d to die,
How can I meet my heavenly father,
Or dare to him for mercy cry.
So all young men I pray take warning,
Your passions curb, ’ere ’tis too late,
My dying prayer do not be scorning,
Think of Frederick Hinson’s wretched fate.
At Wood Green I was respected,