He had gone from the scene of his dastardly action(?),
He had fled to gain safety in a far distant clime,
He thought he had vanished unknown and unnoticed,
But no, the avenger was waiting his time.

The scene was the cabin on board a fine vessel,
Off Port Elizabeth not far from the shore;
And there sat the Bloodseller(?) trying with brandy,
To drown horrid memories the would him creep o'er.

He again saw the court where his friends he betrayed,
The forms of his victims seemed gathering around,
When a stranger approached and looked fixedly at him,
And then, as though satisfied, sat himself down.

A few minutes after - a shot - a short scuffle,
A rushing of feet - a cry and a groan,
And e'er the day ended James Carey the informer,
The blackest of souls to his judgement had flown.

His fate he deserved, and so do all others
Who the law, truth, and justice so cruelly abuse,
And not like Fred Thomas, who always does justice,
Whenever he sells you a pair of his shoes.

For lightness or heaviness, brilliance or service,
For cheapness, for strength, and for lasting in wear,
May I meet the fate of the scoundrel James Carey,
If they don't beat all others, just come, try a pair.