The father hath beguil'd the sonne.
Or, a wonderfull Tragedy, which lately befell In Wiltshire, as many men know
full well. To the tune of Drive the cold Winter away.
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I Often have knowne,
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And expereince hath showne,
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that a spokesman hath woo'd for himselfe
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And that one rich neighbour
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Will underhand labour
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to overthrow another with pelfe:
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But I never knew.
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Nor I thinke any of you,
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since wooing and wedding begun,
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That ith way of marriage,
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Or such kinde of carriage
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the father beguil'd his owne sonne.
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Yet of such a thing
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I purpose to sing:
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and tis of a certaine truth,
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A widower old
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Well stored with gold:
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had one onely sonne a fine youth,
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In Wiltshire of late
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Neere to Bodwin the great:
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this strange and true story was done,
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Then list and give eare
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And you truly shall heare:
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how the father beguil'd his owne sonne.
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A pretty young maid,
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Ith the place aforesaid:
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in a Gentlemans house did dwell
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And this youthfull lad
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So much view of her had,
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that with her in love he soone fell:
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By day and by night
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He wisht for her sight,
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and she at the last was wonne,
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To plight him her troth,
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Yet she broke her oath,
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for the father beguil'd his owne sonne.
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For once on a day
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The young man did say:
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unto his wise and aged dad,
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That twas his intent
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(Worse things to prevent)
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with marriage to make him glad:
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Me thinkes first quoth he,
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Your wife I might see,
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why will you hastily run:
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On such brittle ware?
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Yet for all his care,
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(old fox) he beguil'd his owne sonne.
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The sonne told his father,
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How that he had rather:
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to have in the same his consent.
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So to have a view
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Of his Lover true,
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the sonne with his father went:
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And when they came there
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The Lasse did appeare,
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so faire and so lovely a one,
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That the old doting churle,
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Fell in love with the girle
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and sought to beguile his owne sonne.
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With such pleasant words
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As to love accords,
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they all did depart for that season,
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The honest young Lad,
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Was joyfull and glad:
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his sweet-hart had shew'd him good reaso,
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The love-sicke old man,
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Did looke pale and wan,
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and could to no pleasure be wonne,
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By night and by day,
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Still musing hee lay,
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how he might beguile his owne sonne.
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Yet none did mistrust,
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A thing so unjust:
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for he was neere threescore yeeres old:
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Which yeeres one would thinke,
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Should make a man shrinke,
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when his vitall spirits are cold:
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But now to be briefe,
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That was all his griefe,
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from love all this mischeife begun:
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And nothing could serve,
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His life to preserve,
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but that which must kill his own sonne.
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So once on a day,
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When his sonne to make hay:
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was gone a good mile from the house,
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Away the old man,
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Is gone to see Nan,
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as briske as a body louse:
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And with a bold face,
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He told her his case,
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and into what care he was runne,
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Unlesse that she,
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Would kindly agree,
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to take him in stead of his sonne.
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The second part, To the same tune.
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SHe mused in mind,
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Such greeting to find,
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and thus unto him shee said,
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Can such an old knave,
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With one foot in the grave:
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set love on a young tender maid,
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That hardly sixteene
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Cold winters had seene,
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sure such thing cannot be done:
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Nay more then all this
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You know what past is,
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twixt me and your onely sonne.
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Sweet Nan quoth hee,
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Ne're dally with me,
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I love thee as well as may be,
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And though I am old
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I have silver and gold
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to keepe thee as brave as a Lady,
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All my whole estate
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Upon thee shall wait,
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and whatsoere thou wouldst have done,
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With gold in thy hand,
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Thou shalt it command,
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if thou wilt take me instead of my sonne.
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If me thou doe shun,
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In hope of my sonne
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then take him and ift be thy minde,
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But into the bargaine
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Looke not for one farthing,
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then be not with folly let blind,
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For it lies in my power,
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At this instant houre
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(if thou say no it shall be done)
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To give all I have,
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Away from the knave,
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then take me and leave off my sonne.
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When she heard these words,
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To him shee accords
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upon the same condition,
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That of all his pelfe,
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He should his owne selfe,
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her set in full possession,
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To which he agreed,
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And gave her a deed,
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by which the poore Lad was undone,
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Unnaturally
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To please his fancy,
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he did dis-inherit his sonne.
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These things being acted,
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And they both contracted,
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by witness unawares to the Lad,
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The old man home went,
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With hearty content,
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rejoycing at his courses bad,
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And thus the next day,
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He carryed away
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the Lasse which with wealth he had won
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He maried was,
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Twelve miles from the place,
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thus the father beguil'd his own sonne.
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The young-man with griefe,
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Heard of this mischiefe
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and blaming this monstrous part,
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Before both their faces,
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Unto their disgraces,
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he stab'd himselfe to the heart:
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The unnaturall dad,
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Ran presently mad:
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repenting of what he had done,
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He runs up and downe,
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From towne unto towne,
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and hourely calles on his sonne.
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The faithlesse young wife,
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Weary of her life,
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(to thinke what folly befell)
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Ran straight in all hast,
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And headlong shee cast
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herselfe in a deepe draw-well.
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And there shee was found,
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Next morning quite drown'd
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these things for certaine were done,
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Some sixe weekes agoe,
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As many men know,
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that knew both father and sonne.
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Let every god father,
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A warning here gather,
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by this old mans punishment:
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And let every young Lasse,
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(As in a glasse,)
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looke on this disastrous event;
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For both were to blame,
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And both suffer'd shame,
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the old man yet living doth run
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In mad franticke wise
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And alwayes he cryes,
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for casting away his owne sonne.
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