For one long term, or e'er her trial came, 
Here Brownrigg linger'd. Often have these cells 
Echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice 
She scream'd for fresh Geneva. Not to her 
Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street 
St. Giles, its fair varieties expand; 
Till at the last in slow drawn cart she went 
To execution. Dost thou ask her crime? 
She whipp'd two female 'prentices to death, 
And hid them in the coal-hole. For her mind 
Shap'd strictest plans of discipline. Sage schemes! 
Such as Lycurgus taught, when at the shrine 
Of the Orthyan Goddess he bade flog 
The little Spartans; such as erst chastised 
Our Milton when at College. For this act 
Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws; but time shall come, 
When France shall reign, and laws be all repeal'd!