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And with Earl Dowglas there was slain Sir Hugh Montgomery, Sir Charles Carrel, that from the Field One Foot would never fly: Sir Charles Murrel of Ratcliff too, His Sister's Son was he; Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd, Yet saved could not be.
Among these, there was a country man of his who went by the name of Brown, with whom Murrel had formerly had an acquaintance.
Sir Charles Murrel of Ratcliff too, His sister's son was he; Sir David Lamb so well esteem'd, Yet saved could not be. The familiar sound in these names destroys the majesty of the description; for this reason I do not mention this part of the poem but to show the natural cast of thought which appears in it, as the two last verses look almost like a translation of Virgil.
But the captain who was the original possessor of the horse was so much pleased with his ingenuity that he procured a reprieve for him, and carried him abroad with him where he continued until the peace of Utrecht, when he returned home and fell to his old way of living, by which he had submitted himself unto the time in which he fell into company with Murrel, and had then bought five or six horses which had been stolen from the South, to be disposed of at the fair.
However, Murrel still went on in the same way with the woman he had chosen for his companion. There is all the reason imaginable to suppose that he did not take the most honest ways of supporting himself and his mistress.
Murrel liked the precedent, and put it in practice immediately by stealing a brown mare which belonged to Jonathan Wood, for which he was shortly after apprehended and committed to Newgate.
He was particularly affected with the miseries which were likely to fall upon his poor wife for his folly, and when the day of his death came, he seemed very easy and contented under it, declaring, however, at last that he died in the communion of the Church of Rome. This was on the 27th of June, 1726, being then not much above eighteen years old. The Life of JOHN MURREL, a Horse-Stealer
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