THE Whipster of Woodstreet,  
OR, A True Account of the Barbarous and Horrid Murder committed on the Body of Mary Cox, late Servant in Woodstreet LONDON.  
Tune of, Grim King of the Ghosts.  
Licenced according to Order.  
 

ASsist me some mournful Muse,  
while I a sad Story relate;  
Let all that these Lines peruse,  
lament a poor maids hard fate;  
Who Guiltless and Innocent fell,  
by the hands of a barbarous Dame:  
As fierce as a fury of Hell,  
her sex's eternal shame.   

Her husband to Bristol went,  
his Trade to advance at the fair:  
Whilst she was on mischief bend,  
such mischief she can't repair:  
for suspicion o'er clouding her mind,  
bred a tempest within her breast:  
her soul like a sea with rough wind,  
was ruffled and robbed of rest.   

MEMENTO MORI   

ALl jealous she taxed her maid,  
and falsely did her accuse,  
With theft she did her upbraid,  
and shamefully did abuse:  
While the maid in her own defence,  
undaunted and boldly stood,  
Which made the fierce Dame commence,  
a Tragedy full of Blood.   

she caused her to be fast bound  
to the post of her husband's bed,  
where she did her body wound,  
and whipped her almost dead:  
thus did she a Confession extort,  
of Crimes which the Maid never knew,  
tormenting her in such a sort,  
as would make one's heart for to rue.   

This monster not satisfied yet,  
tho' the blood run from every part,  
Made an Iron red hot in a pet,  
resolving to give her more smart,  
she burned her in shoulders and thighs,  
and several times under her ears,  
she would not come near her Eyes,  
lest th' iron should be quenched with her tears   

Her body was blistered and whailed,  
she was burnt from the head to the heel,  
her skin was so parched that it scaled,  
no pain like to what she did feel:  
she kept in her Chamber three days,  
unwilling the fact should be known,  
And turn to her Master's dispraise,  
if her cruel stripes should be shown.   

As soon as down stairs she came,  
her Mistress was in the old mood,  
The merciless savage Dame,  
did thirst for her very heart's blood:  
she caused her two Prentices then,  
neck and heels the poor Creature to bind,  
No Tygress within her Den,  
e'er showed a more savage mind.   

She kicked her and spurned her about,  
and bid the young Lad●d● the same:  
Resolving to act her part out,  
thus ended the tragical game,  
she catched up a hammer in haste,  
and pierced the maids brains at a blow,  
for which, of the hemp she must taste,  
old Tyburn must have her I trow.    

Printed for W. Thackeray at the Angel in Ducklane; J. Millet at the Angel in Little-Britain; and Alex. Milbourn at the Stationers-Arms in Green-Arbour-Court in the Little-Old-Baily. Where any Chapman may be Furnished with all Sorts of Small BOOKS and BALLADS at Reasonable Rates.