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THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes which I shall write ;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account
In Norfolk dwelt of late,

Whose wealth and riches did surmount
Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to dye,
No helpe his life could save;
His wife by him as sicke did lye,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kinde,

In love they lived, in love they dyed,
And left two babes behinde:

The one a fine and pretty boy,

Not passing three yeares olde;
The other a girl more young than he,
And made in beautye's molde.
The father left his little son,

As plainlye doth appeare,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred poundes a yeare.

And to his little daughter Jane,
Two hundred poundes in gold,
To be paid downe on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:

But if the children chance to dye,
Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possesse their wealth;
For so the will did run.

"Now, brother," said the dying man,
"Look to my children deare;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friendes else have they here:
To God and you I do commend
My children night and day;
A little while be sure we have
Within this world to staye.

66 You must be father and mother both,
And uncle all in one;

God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone."

With that bespake their mother deare,
"O brother kinde," quoth shee,
"You are the man must bring my babes
To wealth or miserie:

"If you do keep them carefully, Then God will you reward; If otherwise you seem to deal, God will your deedes regard." With lippes as cold as any stone, They kist the children small: "God bless you both, my children deare!"

With that the teares did fall.

These speeches then their brother spoke
To this sick couple there:

"The keeping of your children dear,
Sweet sister, do not feare:

God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave.'

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Their parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And brings them both unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye,
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.

He bargain'd with two ruffians rude,
Which were of furious mood,

That they should take the children young,
And slay them in a wood.

He told his wife, and all he had,

He would the children send

To be brought up in faire Londòn,
With one that was his friend.

Away then went the pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,
Rejoycing with a merry minde,
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the waye,

To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives' decaye:

So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made murtherers' heart relent:
And they that tooke the deed to do,
Full sore they did repent.

Yet one of them, more hard of heart,
Did vowe 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 children's life:
And he that was of mildest mood
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
Where babes did quake for feare!

He took the children by the hand,
When teares stood in their eye,
And bade them come and go with him,
Aud look they did not crye:

And two long miles he ledd them thus,
While they for bread complaine:

"Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring ye bread,

When I do come againe."

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe;
But never more they sawe the man
Approaching from the town;

Their prettye lippes, with black-berries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,

And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed.

Thus wandered these two pretty babes,
Till deathe did end their grief,

In one another's armes they dyed,
As babes wanting relief:

No burial these pretty babes
Of any man receives,
Till robin-red-breast painfully

Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell;

Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell:

His barnes were fired, his goods consumed,
His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field,
And nothing with him stayd.

And in the voyage of Portugal
Two of his sonnes did dye;
And, to conclude, himself was brought
Unto much miserye :

He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about;
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out :

The fellowe, that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judged to dye,

As was God's blessed will:

Who did confess the

very truth,

The which is here exprest;

Their uncle dyed while he for debt
Did long in prison rest.

All you that be executors,
And overseers eke,

Of children that be fatherless,

And infants mild and meek;

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