A Kentishman of Maidstone, his own Arraignment, Confession, Condemnation, and judgement of Himself, whilst he lay Prisoner in the King's Bench for the Poisoning of Sir Thomas Ouerbury.  

JAMES FRANKLIN   


I Am Arraigned at the black dreadful Bar,  
Where Sins (so red as Scarlet) judges are;  
All my Inditements are my horrid Crimes,  
Whose Story will affright succeeding Times,  
As (now) they drive the present into wonder,  
Making Men tremble, as trees struck with Thunder.  
If any asks what Evidence comes in,  
O'tis my Conscience, which hath ever been  
A thousand witnesses: and now it tells  
A Tale, to cast me to ten thousand Hells.  
The jury are my Thoughts (upright in this,)  
They sentence me to death for doing amiss:  
Examinations more there need not then,  
Than what's confessed here both to God and Men.  
The Crier of the Court is my black Shame,  
Which when it calls my jury, doth proclaim  
Unless (as they are summoned) they appear,  
To give true Verdict of the Prisoner,  
They shall have heavy Fines upon them set,  
Such, as may make them die deep in heavens debt.  
● About me round sit Innocence and Truth,  
As Clerks to this high Court; and little Ruth  
From People's eyes is cast upon my face,  
Because my facts are barbarous, damned, and base.  
The sergeant that about me (thick) are placed,  
To guard me to my death, (when I am cast)  
Are the black stings my speckled soul now feels,  
Which like to Furies dog me close at heels.  
The Hangman, that attends me is Despair,  
And gnawing worms my fellow-Prisoners are.    

His first Indictment for Murder.  

THe first who (at this Sessions) loud doth call me,  
Is Murder, whose grim visage doth appall me,  
His eyes are fires, his voice rough winds out roars,  
And on my head the Divine Vengeance scores;  
So fast and fearfully I sink to ground,  
And wish I were in twenty Oceans drowned.  
He says I have a bloody villain been,  
And (to prove this) ripe Evidence steps in,  
Browed like myself: justice so brings about,  
That black sins still hunt one another out:  
'Tis like a rotten frame ready to fall,  
For one main Post being shaken, pulls down all.  
To this Indictment, (holding up my hand,)  
Fettered with Terrors more than Irons I stand,  
And being asked what to the bill I say,  
Guilty I cry. O dreadful Sessions-day!    

His second Indictment for poisoning.  

ANother, forthwith bids me come to'th Bar,  
(Poison) that Hellborn cunning Sorcerer,  
That winds himself into a thousand forms,  
And when the day is brightest flings down storms,  
This hath an Angel's face, a Mermaids tongue,  
And notes of much destruction it hath sung.  
This, is the Coward Sin, which (like a Pill,)  
When 'tis most gilded, is most sure to kill.  
Whether this Hel-hownd strike at Morn or Night,  
So treacherous, close, and speedy is his fight,  
That Armours all-of-proofe, nor Towers of Stone,  
Can bar his bloody Execution.  
This Snake with the smooth skin hissed out my name  
'mongst others more, and venomed me with shame  
That rankles to the soul. It says that I  
(For a poor golden handful) did defy  
Heaven and Salvation, when I gave consent  
To tear the bowels of an Innocent  
With lingering poisons of themselves too strong,  
But that their working God put off so long;  
That darker deeds (by this) the light may try,  
Which now perhaps in worse bosoms lie.  
To this Indictment holding up my hand,  
(Fettered with Terrors more than Irons I stand▪)  
And being asked what to the Bill I say,  
Guilty I cry. O dreadful Sessions-Day!    

His third for raising of Spirits etc.  

IN rushes then a heap of Accusations,  
For all those Godless damned Abominations:  
Raised by the black Art, and a conjurers spells:  
As to call Spirits even from the deepest Hells,  
To fetch back thieves that with stolen goods are gone,  
And calculate nativities: such a one  
Credulity of fools and women made me,  
And to that glorious infamy betrayed me.  
A Cunning man, a Wise man were my style,  
When I both played the Fool and Knave the while.  
Art knew I none, nor did I ever reach  
A bough of learning's tree; what I did teach  
To others, or did practise, it was all  
Cheating, false, apish, diabolical.  
To this being likewise asked, what I can say,  
I guilty cry. O dreadful Session's day!  
This devils coat to my body made I fit,  
Brave was the out side, threadbare was the wit.    

His judgement.  

FOr these thick Stygian streams in which thoust swon  
Thy guilt hath on the laid this bitter doom;  
Thy loathed life on a tree of shame must take  
A leave compelled by Law, ere old age make  
Her signed passport ready. Thy offence,  
No longer can for days on earth dispense  
Time blot thy name out of this bloody roll,  
And so the Lord have mercy on thy soul.    
He was executed the 9 of December. 1615.   

Imprinted at London for J. T.