But curse on parties' hateful strife, That led the faithful youth astray! The day the rebel clans appear'd-- (Oh! had he never seen that day!) Their colours and their sash he wore, And in their fatal dress was found; And now he must that death endure Which gives the brave the keenest wound. How pale was then his true-love's cheek When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear! For never yet did Alpine snows So pale nor yet so chill, appear. "Yet, might sweet mercy find a place, And bring relief to Jemmy's woes, O George! without a prayer for thee My orisons should never close. "The gracious prince that gives him life Would crown a never-dying flame; And every tender babe I bore Should learn to lisp the giver's name. "But though, dear youth, thou shouldst be dragg'd To yonder ignominious tree, Thou shalt not want a faithful friend To share thy bitter fate with thee." O, then her mourning-coach was call'd; The sledge moved slowly on before;-- Though borne in a triumphal car, She had not loved her favourite more. She follow'd him, prepared to view The terrible behests of law; And the last scene of Jemmy's woes, With calm and steadfast eyes she saw. Distorted was that blooming face Which she had fondly loved so long, And stifled was that tuneful breath Which in her praise had sweetly sung; And sever'd was that beauteous neck Round which her arms had fondly closed; And mangled was that beauteous breast On which her love-sick head reposed;-- And ravish'd was that constant heart She did to every heart prefer; For, though it could his king forget, 'Twas true and loyal still to her. Amidst those unrelenting flames She bore this constant heart to see; But, when 'twas moulder'd into dust, "Yet, yet," she cried, "I'll follow thee! "My death, my death, can only show The pure and lasting love I bore; Accept, O Heaven! of woes like ours, And let us--let us weep no more." The dismal scene was o'er and past, The lover's mournful hearse retired; The maid drew back her languid head, And, sighing forth his name, expired. Though justice ever must prevail, The tear my Kitty sheds is due; For seldom shall we hear a tale So sad, so tender, and so true. These offenders were hanged on Kennington Common. They had not hung above five minutes when Townley was cut down, being yet alive: and his body being placed on the block, the executioner chopped off his head with a cleaver. His heart and bowels were then taken out, and thrown into the fire; and the other parties being separately treated in the same manner, the executioner cried out, "God save King George!"