The woeful lamentation of Edward Smith, a poor penitent prisoner in the jail of Bedford, which he wrote a short time before his death.  
To the tune of, Dainty come thou to me.  

I Am a Prisoner poor  
Oppressed with misery:  
O Lord do thou restore,  
that faith which wants in me.   

In woe I wail and weep,  
In griping grief I cry,  
In dungeon dark and deep,  
In fetters fast I lie   

Sighing I sit and moan  
My foul offences all,  
My loathsome life is known,  
which makes me live in thrall   

Ned ●mith I am, the wight  
In prison that remains,  
Tormented day and night,  
with bands and iron chains.   

My joys are turned to nought,  
My hopes are worn away,  
My wickedness hath wrought  
my downfall and decay.   

Those gifts that God gave me,  
My wants for to supply,  
Abused much I have.  
to please my fantasy.   

My name I did deny,  
In Baptism given me,  
That Sacrament whereby  
regenerate I should be.   

No wit nor strength may serve  
The Law to satisfy:  
For death I do deserve,  
in right and equity.   

For I offended have  
Nobles of high degree,  
What favour can I crave  
for life or liberty.   

But hope of life is past,  
My acts so heinous be.  
And liberty is lost,  
till death do set me free.   

All men both old and young  
Which are at liberty,  
And hear my doleful song.  
example take by me.   

Be true and trust in God,  
Fly theft and vice eschew,  
Lest Gods most heavy rod,  
correct your deeds untrue.   

Would I had ne'er been borne  
To do such wicked deeds,  
Which makes me live in scorn  
and shame that sore exceeds.   

But that which passed is,  
I cannot now recall:  
My sins and my amiss,  
O Lord forgive them all.   

Woe worth ill company,  
Fie on that filthy crew:  
Accursed the day may be  
that ever I them knew.   

If life and death were set  
Before me for to choose,  
Though I might pardon get,  
my life first would I lose,   

Then run that wicked race,  
And do as I have done,  
Sweet jesus give me grace,  
that life so lewd to shun.   

Farewell my loving wife  
Who sought to turn my mind,  
And make me mend my life,  
thy words full true I find.   

Farewell my children all,  
My tender Babes adieu:  
Let this your Father's fall,  
be warning good for you.   

Dear wife and infants three,  
Serve God remember this,  
That you true subjects be,  
though I have done amiss.   

Farewell my music sweet,  
And Cittorn silver sound,  
Mourning for me is meet  
my sins do so abound.   

O Lord on bended knees  
And hands lift up on high,  
Cast on me gracious eyes  
with grace my wants supply   

Lay not unto my charge,  
The things that I have done,  
Though I have run at large,  
and played the unthrift son.   

Yet now I do repent,  
And humbly come to thee  
My sins I do lament,  
sweet jesus comfort me.   

O Lord I do Lament,  
And only joy in thee,  
To praise thee day and night,  
for thou redeemedst me.   

Lord save our royal King  
Whose prisoner poor am I,  
Prolong his days on earth,  
with fame and victory.   

Against his Majesty,  
I have offended sore,  
Committing Felony,  
and now I die therefore.   

A doleful death God knows,  
Which once I did defy:  
Thus must I end my woes  
which I take patiently,   

By thee O Saviour sweet,  
In heaven I hope to rest,  
In joy where I shall meet,  
those fowls whom thou hast blest   

Where we shall sing thy praise,  
O God, with voice high,  
When I shall end my days,  
and live eternally.   
FINIS.   

Printed by the Assigns of Thomas Symcock.