The Norfolk Gentlemans last Will and Testament. [And how he] committed the Keeping of his Children to his own Brother, who dealt most wickedly with them; and how God plagued him for it. To the Tune of Rogero..
|
NOw ponder well, you Parents dear,
|
these Words which I shall write,
|
[A] dolful Story you shall hear,
|
[i]n time brought forth to light:
|
[A] Gentleman of good account,
|
in Norfolk dwelt of late,
|
Whose Wealth and Riches did formount,
|
most Men of his Estate.
|
Sore sick he was, and like to dye,
|
no help that he could have,
|
His Wife by him as sick did lye,
|
and both possess one Grave:
|
No love between these two was lost,
|
each was to other kind,
|
In love they livd, in love they dyd,
|
and left two Babes behind.
|
The one a fine and pretty Boy,
|
not passing three Years old,
|
The other a Girl more young then he,
|
and made in Beautys Mould:
|
[Th]e Father left his little Son,
|
as plainly doth appear,
|
[W]hen he to perfect Age should come,
|
three hundred Pounds a year.
|
And to his little Daughter Jane,
|
five hundred Pound in Gold,
|
To be paid down on Marriage day,
|
which might not be contrould;
|
But if the Children chance to dye,
|
eer they to Age should come,
|
Their Unckle should possess their Wealth
|
for so the Will did run.
|
Now Brother said the dying Man
|
look to my Children dear,
|
Be good unto my Boy and Girl,
|
no Friends else I have here:
|
To God and you I do commend
|
my Children night and day,
|
A little while be sure we had:
|
within this World to stay.
|
You must be Father Mother both,
|
and Unckle all in one,
|
God knows what will become of them,
|
when I am dead and gone,
|
With that bespoke their Mother dear,
|
O Brother kind, quoth she
|
You are the Man must, bring my Babes
|
to Wealth or Misery.
|
If you do keep hem carefully,
|
then God will you reward,
|
If otherwise you seem to deal,
|
God will your Deeds regard,
|
With lips as cold as any stone,
|
she kist the Children small.
|
God bless you both my Children dear,
|
with that the tears did fall.
|
These Speeches then their Brother spoke,
|
to sick Couple their,
|
The keeping of your Children dear,
|
sweet Sister, do not fear:
|
God never prosper Me nor Mine,
|
nor ought else that I have,
|
If I do wrong your Children dear,
|
when you are laid in Grave.
|
Their Parents been dead and gone,
|
the Children home he takes,
|
And brings them home unto his House,
|
and much of them he makes.
|
He had not kept these pretty Babes,
|
a Twelve-month and a Day,
|
But for their wealth he did devise
|
to make them both away.
|
He bargained with two Ruffians rude,
|
which were of furious mood,
|
That they should take the Children young
|
and slay them in a Wood:
|
And told his Wife, and all he had,
|
he did the Childeren send
|
To be brought up in fair London,
|
with one that was his Friend,
|
Away then went these prety Babes,
|
rejoyceing at that tide:
|
Rejoyceing with a merry mind,
|
they should on Cock-horse ride
|
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
|
as they rode on the way,
|
To those that should their Butchers be,
|
and work their Lives decay.
|
So that the prety speech they had,
|
made Murthers hearts relent,
|
And they that took the Deed to do,
|
full sore they did repent:
|
Yet one of them more hard of heart,
|
did vow to do his Charge,
|
Because the Wretch that hired him,
|
had paid him very large.
|
The other would not agree thereto,
|
so here they fell at strife;
|
With one another they did Fight,
|
about the Childrens Life:
|
And he that was of mildest mood,
|
did Slay the other their,
|
Within an unfrequented Wood,
|
where Babes did quake for fear.
|
He took the Children by the hand,
|
when tears stood in their eyes;
|
And bad them come and go with him,
|
ond look they did not cry:
|
And two long Miles he led them thus,
|
while they for Bread complain,
|
Stay here, quoth he, ill bring ye Bread,
|
when I do come again.
|
These pretty Babes with hand in hand,
|
went wandering up and down,
|
But never more they saw the Man,
|
approaching from the Town:
|
Their pretty Lips with Black-berries,
|
were all besmeard and dyd,
|
And when they saw the darksom Night,
|
they sate them down and cryd,
|
Thus wandred these two pretty Babes.
|
till Death did end their Grief,
|
In one another Armes they dyd,
|
as Babes wanting Relief:
|
No Burial these pretty Babes,
|
of any Man receive,
|
Till Robin-red-brest painfully,
|
did cover them with Leaves.
|
And now the heavy wrath of God,
|
upon their Unckle fell,
|
Yea, fearful Feinds did hunt his House,
|
his Conscience fellt a Hell:
|
His Barns were fird, his Goods consumd,
|
his Lands were barren made,
|
His Cattel dyd within the Field,
|
and nothing with him staid,
|
And in the Voyage of Portugal,
|
two of his Sons did dye;
|
And to conclude, himself was brought
|
unto much Misery:
|
He pawnd and Morgagd all his Land,
|
eer seven Qears came about;
|
And now at length this wicked Act,
|
did by this means come out:
|
The Fellow that did take in hand,
|
these Children for to kill;
|
Was for a Robbery judgd to dye,
|
as was Gods blessed Will:
|
Who did confess the very Truth,
|
the which is here exprest;
|
Their Unckl dyd while he for Debt,
|
did long in Prison rest.
|
All you that be Executors made,
|
and Overseeos eke,
|
Of Childeten that be Fatherless,
|
and Infants mild and meek,
|
Take you Example by this thing
|
and yeild to each his Right,
|
Least God with such like Misery,
|
your wicked minds requite.
|
|
|
|
|
|