I.

You most indulging parents, lend an ear, And you a dismal tragedy shall hear; A story strange, but certain true, indeed, Enough to make a stony heart to bleed.

In York, that famous city of renown, There lived a gentleman, one squire Brown, Whose wealth and riches was exceeding great, But yet he had no heir to his estate.

He had a virtuous, kind, and loving wife, With whom he liv'd a very happy life; The want of children was their only grief, But to their relief,--

She was with child, and with a son we hear; Great was the joy when she delivered were; Much feasting, which for many days did last, Both rich and poor did of their bounty taste.

It pleased God the child did live and thrive, Until it came to be the age of five; At five years old its sorrows first begun, And so continued many years to run.

The greatest pleasure that we here can boast, Soon fades away, and very short at most; When death approaches, who can shun the dart? He has command, and strikes us to the heart.

Th' squire's lady was took very ill, The doctors used in vain their best of skill; All wou'd not do, the fatal stroke death gave, And now no mortal here her life can save.

Her husband then she call'd for out of hand, Her weeping friends around her bed do stand; Her husband came, she said to him, "My dear, The time is short I have to tarry here.

"Be careful of my darling child, your son, See that in virtuous paths he strives to run; That I in Heaven may see him once again, And there in endless joys with him remain.

"For my child's sake, O marry not, my dear, For if you do I shall not rest, I fear; Let no step-mother my dear child abuse, Whom I so tenderly have used.

"My jointure, which is fifty pounds a year, I leave it to my child I love so dear; Be you a tender father to my son; Think on my words when I am dead and gone."

He said, "My dear, your words I'll keep in mind, I to my child will be a father kind, To wrong my child, I wrong myself you know, I love my child too well to serve him so."

Then for her child she straight did call, While the tears down her cheeks did fall, And kissing of him with lips like clay, The child did to its dying mother say:

"Mammy, what makes you kiss me so and cry? I hope you'll be better by-and-bye." "I hope I shall, my dear," to him she cry'd, Then turn'd herself and instantly she dy'd.