Murder Unparalleled: Or, an Account of the Bloody Murder of THOMAS THINE, Esq On Sunday the 12th. of February 1682.  
To the Tune of Troy Town.  

[1]  
COme and assist my Trembling Pen,  
While I endeavour to explain,  
The Bloody minds of cruel Men,  
That will no wickedness refrain.   

But Bloody Humours to fulfil,  
Innocent Blood they daily spill,   

[2]  
Now my sad story I'll begin,  
The like I think you ne'er did hear,  
How that the great Esquire Thin,  
Was Murdered it doth plain appear.   

Their Bloody minds for to fulfil,  
This Squire most horridly they kill.   

[3]  
On Sunday last this Gentleman,  
Clear of all Scandals and Reproach,  
At several places he had been,  
Accompanied with his Grace in Coach.   

This worthy Person thought no ill,  
Whilst Villains sought his Blood to spill.   

[4]  
And thus they passed the Streets along,  
Till seven or eight a Clock at Night,  
And then his Grace he would be gone,  
In whom so much he did delight.   

Poor soul he little thought of ill,  
While Villains sought his Blood to spill.   

[5]  
His Grace he was no sooner gone,  
But this sad accident befell,  
By Villains he was set upon,  
Near to a place that's called Pellmell.   

Their Hellish minds they did fulfil,  
And there his precious Blood did spill.   

[6]  
Up to his Coach these Villains ride,  
As by his Servants it is said,  
With Weapons which they did provide,  
Whilst he poor Soul was not afraid,   

For harmless Souls do fear no ill,  
While Villains seek their Blood to spill.   

[7]  
Meeting with him as they desired,  
Their Hellish courage than grew hot,  
Into his Coach at him they fired.  
And to him many Bullets Shot.   

And so like Villains him they killed,  
And his most precious Blood they spilled.   

[8]  
Away like Villains than they fled,  
With horror doubtless in their mind,  
This worthy Soul three quarters dead,  
Bleeding i'th' Coach they left behind.   

Now had the Villains got their will,  
That sought his precious Blood to spill.   

[9]  
When these unwelcome tidings came,  
Unto the Duke's astonished ear,  
His wondrous sorrow for the same,  
Did on a sudden plain appear.   

He straight pursued those that did spill,  
His precious Blood that thought no ill.   

[10]  
This Person than did all the night,  
Pursue these Murderers in vain,  
Till Sol with his resplendent light,  
Did to our sight return again.   

But could not find those that did kill,  
That harmless soul as thought no ill.   

[11]  
But Heaven did presently find out  
What with great care he could not do,  
'Twas well he was the Coach gone out,  
Or he might have been murdered too,   

For they who did this Squire kill,  
Would fear the Blood of none to spill.   

[12]  
These Villains they were seized at last,  
And brought before his Majesty,  
This horrid thing they then confessed,  
Now Prisoners theyin Newgate lie.   

And be condemned no doubt they will,  
That Squire Thyn's sweet blood did spill.    

LONDON, Printed for the Author, J. M. 1682: