THE STANFIELD HALL MURDERS.

BY BEN BLOCK

 

Well my hearties, at length we have come at the truth,
Which, for months has been puzzling grey age, and fresh youth!
O'er our city, these barbarous murders have cast,
Such a gloom as no circumstance ever surpass'd;

Human nature, we scarce could believe is so base,
As this murderer, Rush, has been prov'd in this case,
For, his victims, whose blood, he so cruelly spill'd,
Had his purse, and his coffers both frequently fill'd;

When embarrassment, heavily clogg'd his affairs,
And when rent, rates, & taxes, were all in arrears;
Or when Bailiffs, and lawyers, against him have strove,
Mr. Jermy, his staunch benefactor did prove.

There are some, who will heap on each victim's cold head,
Haughty bearing, and thus for the murderer plead;
They had faults, this no man in his senses will doubt,
With a hand on your heart, lads, let's say who's without?

But the worst of these foes, all the censures will hush,
When they think, what the Jermys have done for this Rush.
They are gone, to account for the lives they have lead,
And the old maxim says, "Speak not ill of the dead,"

But this maxim's not good, lads, in every case,
For a cowardly murd'rer, so cruel, and base,
Should in mem'ry be branded, with terrible truth,
And be held up to others, a warning to youth.

In the name of humanity, what can be said,
Of this barbarous villian, of what was he made?
Either heart, love, or feeling, the wretch never had,
Or to think of his crimes, must have driven him mad.

But the devil, who fits, his dark mind did ensnare,
Had assisted him since, his defence to prepare;
In such hands, the base murderer, thought himself safe,
To the small voice of conscience, he feign'd himself deaf.

And forgetting what, God in His anger hath said,
"Whose shedeth man's blood, by man, shall his be shed;"
And also that God, said to Cain in His wrath,
"Curs'd art thou, for thy brother'd blood cries from the earth,"

Had the devil not made him as blind as a bat,
On the murderer's conscience, these warnings had set,
But the grizzly old serpent, who God did defy,
As to Eve, said to Rush, "Thou shall not surely die,"

Only sweep off these Jermys, males, females and all,
And I'll give you possession, of fam'd Stanfield Hall.
In the devil's own school, this foul murd'rer was rear'd,
For his masters black work, he was always prepar'd;

We have not yet forgot how his step-father died,
Nor the fire at the Farm, which he stoutly denied;
In these horrid acts, by the devil assisted,
He raised up a quibble, and justice resisted;

And, this frequent success, gave him courage and pluck,
For he thought, "devil's children, must have devil's luck,"
So, the devil, with riches, now baited his hook,
Which the ungrateful murderer, greedily took.

O' ye wives! Let your sympathies pow'rfully fall,
On the maim'd widow Lady of said Stanfield Hall;
Ye innocent children, your sighs do not smother,
But, think what Miss Jermy, must feel for her mother.

And the heroic maid, who her mistress defended,
Oh! Let her, with unceasing care be attended.
That we all may be able temptation to bar,
Is the hope, and the pray'r of Ben Block the Old Tar.


R. WALKER, PRINTER, CHURCH STREET, ST MILE'S, NORWICH