"Tush, 'tis no matter, George,
So we the money have
To have good cheer in jolly sort,
And deck us fine and brave."
Thus lived in filthy sort, 145
Until their store was gone:
When means to get them any more,
I-wis poor George had none.
Therefore in railing sort,
She thrust him out of door; 150
Which is the just reward of those,
Who spend upon a whore.
"O do me not disgrace
In this my need," quoth he:
She called him thief and murderer, 155
With all the spight might be.
To the constable she sent,
To have him apprehended;
And shewed how far, in each degree,
He had the laws offended. 160
When Barnwell saw her drift,
To sea he got straightway;
Where fear and sting of conscience
Continually on him lay.
Unto the lord mayor then, 165
He did a letter write,
In which his own and Sarah's fault
He did at large recite.
Whereby she seized was,
And then to Ludlow sent, 170
Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd,
For murder incontinent.
There dyed this gallant quean,
Such was her greatest gains;
For murder in Polonia, 175
Was Barnwell hang'd in chains.
Lo! here's the end of youth
That after harlots haunt,
Who in the spoil of other men
About the streets do flaunt. 180