The last Speech and dying words of the CROSS of Edinburgh, which was hanged, drawn and quartered, on Monday the 15th of March 1756, for the horrid crime of being an Incumbrance to the Street.

Ye sons of Scotia, mourn and weep,
Express your grief with sorrow deep,
Let aged sires be bath'd in tears,
And ev'ry heart be fill'd with fears;
Let rugged rocks with grief abound,
And Echos multiply the sound;
Let rivers, hills, let woods and plains,
Let morning dews, let winds and rains,
United join to aid my woe,
And loudly mourn my overthrow.—
For Arthur's Ov'n and Edinburgh Cross,
Have, by new schemers, got a toss;
We, heels o'er head, are tumbled down,
The modern taste is London town.
I was built up in Gothic times,
And have stood sev'ral hundred reigns;
Sacred my mem'ry and my name,
For kings and queens I did proclaim.
I peace and war did oft declare,
And rous'd my country ev'ry where:
Your ancestors around me walk'd;
Your kings and nobles 'side me talk'd;
And lads and lasses, with delight,
Set tryst with me to meet at night;
No tryster e'er was at a loss,
For why, I'll meet you at the Cross.
I country people did direct
Through all the city with respect,
Who, missing me, will look as droll
As mariners without the pole.
On me great men have lost their lives,
And for a maiden left their wives.
Low rogues likewise oft got a peg
With turnip, t&wblank;d, or rotten egg;
And when the mob did miss their butt,
I was bedaub'd like any slut.
With loyal men, on loyal days,
I drest myself in lovely bays,
And with sweet apples treat the croud,
While they huzza'd around me loud.
Professions many have I seen,
And never have disturbed been,
I've seen the Tory party slain,
And Whigs exulting o'er the plain:
I've seen again the Tories rise,
And with loud shouting pierce the skies,
Then crown their king, and chace the Whig,
From Pentland-hill to Bothwel-brig.
I've seen the cov'nants by all sworn,
And likewise seen them burnt and torn.
I neutral stood, as peaceful Quaker,
With neither side was I partaker.
I wish my life had longer been,
That I might greater ferlies seen;
Or else like other things decay,
Which Time alone doth waste away:
But since I now must lose my head,
I, at my last, this lesson read:
'Tho' wealth, and youth, and beauty shine,
'And all the graces round you twine,
'Think on your end, nor proud behave,
'There's nothing sure this side the grave.'
Ye jolly youths, with richest wine,
Who drunk my dirge, for your propine,
I do bequeath my lasting boon:
May heav'n preserve you late and soon;
May royal wine, in royal bowls,
And lovely women chear your souls,
Till by old age you gently die,
To live immortal in the sky.
To own my faults I have no will,
For I have done both good and ill:
As to the crime for which I die,
To my last gasp, Not guilty, I.
But to this magisterial hate
I shall assign the pristine date.
When the intrepid, matchless CHARLES
Came here with many HighlandCarls,
And o'er my top, in public sight,
Proclaim'd aloud his Father's Right;
From that day forth it was agreed,
That I should as a Rebel bleed;
And at this time they think it meet
To snatch my fabric off the street,
Lest I should tell to them once more
The tale I told ten years before.
At my destroyers bear no grudge,
Nor do you stain their mason-lodge,
Tho' well may all by-standers see
That better masons built up me.
The royal statue in the close
Will share the fate of me, poor Cross;
Heav'ns, earth, and seas, all in a range,
Like me, will perish for Exchange.