As clever Tom Clinch, while the Rabble was bawling,
Rode stately through Holbourn, to die in his Calling;
He stopt at the George for a Bottle of Sack,
And promis'd to pay for it when he'd come back.
His Waistcoat and Stockings, and Breeches were white,
His cap had a new Cherry Ribbon to ty't.
The Maids to the Doors and the Balconies ran,
And said, lack-a-day! he's a proper young Man.
But, as from the Windows the Ladies he spy'd,
Like a Beau in the Box, he bow'd low on each Side;
And when his last Speech the loud Hawkers did cry,
He swore from his Cart, it was all a damn'd Lye.
The Hangman for Pardon fell down on his Knee;
Tom gave him a Kick in the Guts for his Fee.
Then said, I must speak to the People a little,
But I'll see you all damn'd before I will whittle.
My honest Friend Wild, may he long hold his Place,
He lengthen'd my Life with a whole Year of Grace.
Take Courage, dear Comrades, and be not afraid,
Nor slip this Occasion to follow your Trade.
My Conscience is clear, and my Spirits are calm,
And thus I go off without Pray'r-Book or Psalm.
Then follow the Practice of clever Tom Clinch,
Who hung like a Hero, and never would flinch.

All things within this fading world hath end, 
Adversity doth still our joyes attend;
No tyes so strong, no friends so dear and sweet, 
But with deaths parting blow is sure to meet. 
The sentence past is most irrevocable,
A common thing, yet oh inevitable;
How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend, 
How soon't may be thy Lot to lose thy friend, 
We both are ignorant, yet love bids me 
These farewell lines to recommend to thee,
That when that knot's unty'd that made us one,
I may seem thine, who in effect am none.
And if I see not half my dayes that's due,
What nature would, God grant to yours and you; 
The many faults that well you know I have,
Let be interr'd in my oblivious grave;
If any worth or virtue were in me,
Let that live freshly in thy memory 
And when thou feel'st no grief, as I no harms, 
Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms: 
And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains 
Look to my little babes my dear remains.
And if thou love thy self, or loved'st me 
These O protect from step Dames injury.
And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse, 
With some sad sighs honour my absent Herse; 
And kiss this paper for thy loves dear sake,
Who with salt tears this last Farewel did take.