When I see the assistance she now has (and I am glad to see she has the assistance of three as able gentlemen as any in the profession) I am sure she will not be now advised to say she was then joking.  But it will appear very plainly to you, gentlemen, that she was not joking, for the next morning she dressed herself in a proper habit for a journey, and, while the people put to take care of her were absent, stole out of the house and went over Henley Bridge.  But the mob, who had heard of what she had done, followed her so close that she was forced to take shelter in a little alehouse, the Angel.  Mr. Fisher, a gentleman who was afterwards one of the jury upon the coroner’s inquisition, came there, and prevailed with her (or in other words forced her) to return home.  Upon her return, the inquest sitting, she sends for Mr. Fisher into another room and said, “Dear Mr. Fisher, what do you think they will do with me?  Will they send me to Oxford gaol?” “Madam,” said he, “I am afraid it will go hard with you.  But if you have any of Mr. Cranstoun’s letters, and produce them, they may be of some service to you.”  Upon hearing this she cried out, “Dear Mr. Fisher, what have I done?  I had letters that would have hanged that villain, but I have burnt them.  My honour to that villain has brought me to my destruction.”  And she spoke the truth.

This, gentlemen, is in substance the history of this black affair.  But, my lords, though this is the history in order of time, yet it is not the order in which we shall lay the evidence before your lordships and the jury.  It will be proper for us to begin by establishing the fact that Mr. Francis Blandy did die of poison.  When the physicians have proved that, we will then proceed to show that he died of the poison put into the water gruel on the 5th of August.  After this we will call witnesses who from a number of circumstances, as well as from her own confession, will prove she put it into her father’s water gruel, knowing it was for her father, and knowing it to be poison.

Having done this, we will conclude with a piece of evidence which I forgot to mention before, and that is the conversation between her and Mr. Lane at the Angel.  Mr. Lane and his wife happening to be walking at that time, finding a mob about the door, stepped into the alehouse to see the prisoner.  The moment she saw a gentleman, though it was one she did not know, she accosted him, “Sir, you appear to be a gentleman; for heaven’s sake, what will become of me?” “Madam!” said he, “you will be sent to Oxford gaol; you will there be tried for your life.  If you are innocent, you will be acquitted; if you are guilty, you will suffer death.”

The prisoner upon hearing this stamped with her foot, and said, “Oh! that damned villain!” Then pausing, “But why do I blame him?  I am most blame myself, for I gave it, and I knew the consequence.”  If she knew the consequence, I am sure there are none of you gentlemen but who will think she deserves to suffer the consequence.