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					 LAMENTATION                                             OF


  MART BRAID,
Who is to Executed at Edinburgh, on Monday the 17th day of February, and
   her body buried within the precincts of the jail, for the unnatural crime of
   INCEST with her Brother, (who is to be transported beyond seas for life,)
   and the cruel and barbarous MURDER of her own child, their illicit off-
   spring, by throwing it into the Union Canal, on the 13th of August last,
   with a rope tied round its neck.




 This town of late has been the scen                                       LAMENTATION.
 Of deeds too horrid for to name,                              Oh, all who hear of my sad state,
 Even history blushes to afford                                  Oh, pry my dire case,
 A space their occurrence to record.                           Do /?/ to an ignominious fate,
 Of heathen lands we have heard narrate                          Deprived of human bliss.
 Foul deeds which freeze the blood to state ;
 But lo! within this Christian land.                           Oh. if my days were to begin,
 We equal deeds can now command                                  1 to the world would shew
                                                               That I would shun the paths of sin,
 Of Burke and Hare we have all heard tell,                       Wherein destroyers go.
 Who, murdering, did their victims sell
 To surgeons of the first repute                               Bin, ah ! these days are past .and gone !
 Who thought they'd naturally              died—                 In fetters here 1 lye,
 Of Emond, whom sly vengeance drew                             Confined in a dungeon strong,
 To kill his sister and neice too ;                              By men condemned to die.
And Howison, who, through wanton malice,
At Cramond slew poor Widow Geddes                              Because God's laws I did transgress,
                                                                 And would net walk therein ;
Besides the list of later worthies,                            But fled the paths of righteousness
Namely, M'Court, and Gow. and Beveridge,                         And trod the path of sin.
Who, to get rid each of his wife,
Made use of poker, tongs, of knife.                            Tormenting thoughts oppress my heart,
Though all of these they were detected,                          While I think on my ways;
And each his crime has expiated                                More piercing they're than sharped darts,
By shameful death—-yet, strange to say,                          That have cut short my days.
Like deeds are acted at this day.
                                                              And sure the vengeance it will come,
As witness now the double crime,                                And on my head will full,
Which of the city is the theme,                               Unless that God's own holy son
Incest between a sister and brother,                            Deliver me from, thrall.
Cemented too with cool child murder.
Sure such can never be the effect                             O, therefore,, holy Son of God,
Of the high famed " march of intellect ?"                        Do thou my soul relieve
Say, does a people when refined                               From God's wrath and afflicting rod,
Lose the finer feelings of the mind ?                           That now my soul doth grieve.
As on my bed I lay last night,                                On thy redemption I depend ;
(Sure sleep had at me taken fright,)                            0 cast me not away;
Such thoughts upon my mind still prey'd,                      But shield my soul, and me defend
In reference to the case of Braid.                              Against the evil day.
Methought a Genius wan and pale
Transported me unto the jail                                  And then of death's devouring pangs
Through gate and wicket, 'thout key or bell,                    1 will not be afraid ;
He led me to the condemned cell.                              When then by thine own righteous laws,
                                                                My righteousness hast made.
Within the prison's darksome gloom,                           Good christians all, of every kind.
These prisoners mourned their fated doom;                       Who hear of my sad fate,
Their eyes were glazed, their cheeks were pale,               Repent, and sanctify your mind,
And they lifted their eyes in weeping and wail.                 Before it is too late.
But there was one who strnck my sight,
Whose eye once beamed with lustre bright,                     So that with you it may be well,
Though now 'twas bedimmed with many a tear.                     When you resign your breath,
As she thought on the day that was drawing near               And may with samts and angels dwell,
As thus she sat in deep sorrow drowned,                         Free from the second death.
Her frail body with many a chain being bound,                 Remember, Lord, how short a time
Beside herstood,ina n x i o u sthought,                         On earth I've to remain.
Her brother, partner of her guilt.                            And when I suffer for my crime,
Their looks betrayed their inward pain,                         May death to me be gain.
As they struggled a self-command to gain
To take a last and solemn farewell                            O let the prisoner's sighs ascend,
Of each other they loved so fatally well.                       Before thy throne on high,
At length spake the brother, while his tears ran down,        Likewise from death their souls defend
Farewell, dearest Mary, our time now is flown ;                 That are condemned to die.
Though death is your doom, how freely could I                 O then give ear to what I say.
With you exchange places, and in your stead die.                Seek God to be your guide;
But, alas! I'll be hurried to a foreign land,                 Resort not with bad company,
Where hard-hearted- tyrants shall o'er me command,              And truth keep on your side.
Without the least prospect of comfort or peace,
Till death's welcome message shall give me release.           For if you suffer passions strong
Scarce able to speak, in his arms then she fell,                To triumph over you.
As she faulter'd these words, dear Thomas, farewell!          They'll hurry you to hell amongst
Repent of your sins, be Religion your guide,                    The lost and guilty crew,
And Heaven Will bless you whatever betide,                    Who've trampled on God's holy laws,
For me do not grieve-—I go hence in full hope                   And his precepts cast behind,
Of receiving free pardon through Jesus my God ;               And now thioughout eternity
In which blessed hope I trust I shall die,                     Cannot one comfort find.
 And wake in the blessed assembly on high.
                                                                         Sanderson, Printer, Edinburgh.

				
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