A most notable example of an ungracious Son, who
in the pride of his heart denyed his owne Father, and how
God for his offence, turned his meat into loathsome
Toades. To the Tune of Lord Darley.
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IN searching famous Chronicles,
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it was my chance to reade
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A worthy Story strange and true,
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whereto I tooke good heed:
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Betwixt a Farmer and his Son,
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this rare example stands,
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Which wel may move the hardest hearts
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to weepe and wring their hands.
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The Farmer in the Countrey livd,
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whose substance did excell;
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He sent therefore his eldest Sonne,
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in Paris for to dwell,
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Where he became a Marchant man,
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and Trafficke great he used,
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So that he was exceeding rich,
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till he himselfe abused.
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For having now the World at will,
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his mind was wholly bent
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To gaming, wine, and wantonnesse,
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till all his goods were spent.
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Yea, such excessive Riotousnesse
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by him was shewed forth,
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That he was three times more in debt
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then all his wealth was worth.
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At length his credit cleane was crackt,
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and he in Prison cast,
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And every man against him then
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did set his action fast.
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There lay he lockt in Irons strong,
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for ever and for aye,
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Unable while his life did last,
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his grievous debt to pay.
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And living in this wofull case,
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his eyes with teares he spent:
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The lewdnesse of his former life,
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too late he did repent:
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And being void of all reliefe,
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of helpe and comfort quite;
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Unto his father at the last,
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he thus began to write.
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Bow downe a while your heedfull eares,
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my loving Father deare;
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And grant I pray in gracious sort,
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my piteous plaint to heare.
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Forgive the foule offences all
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of your unthrifty Son;
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Which through the lewdnesse of his life,
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hath now himselfe undone.
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O my good Father, take remorse
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on this my extreme need,
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And succour his distressed state,
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whose heart for woe doth bleed.
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In direfull dungeon here I lye,
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my feet in fetters fast:
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Whom my most cruell Creditors
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in Prison so have cast.
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Let pity therefore pierce your brest,
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and mercie move your mind:
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And to release my miserie,
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some shift, sweet Father find.
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My chiefest cheere is bread full browne,
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the boords my softest bed:
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And flinty stones my pillowes serve
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to rest my troubled head.
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The second Part, to the same Tune.
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MY garments all are worne to rags,
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my body starves with cold:
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And crawling Vermine eats my flesh,
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most grievous to behold.
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Deare Father come, therefore with speed,
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and rid me out of thrall,
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And let me not in Prison dye,
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sith for your helpe I call.
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The good old man no sooner had
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perusd this written scrowle,
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But trickling teares along his cheekes
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most plenteously did rowle.
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Alas, my Sonne, my Sonne, quoth he,
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in whom I joyed most,
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Thou shalt not long in Prison be,
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whatever it me cost.
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Two hundred heads of welfead Beasts,
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he changed into gold:
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Foure hundred quarters of good Corne,
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for silver eke he sold.
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But all the same could not suffice,
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this hainous fact to pay,
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Till at the last constraind he was
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to sell his Land away.
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Then was his Sonne released quite,
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his debt discharged cleane,
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And he likewise as well to live,
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as he before had beene.
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Then went his loving Father home,
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who for to helpe his Sonne
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Had sold his Living quite away,
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and eke himselfe undone.
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So that he lived poore and bare
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and in such extreame need,
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That many times he wanted food,
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his hungry Corps to feed.
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His Son mean time in wealth did swim
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whose substance now was such,
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That sure within the Citie then,
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few men were found so rich.
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But as his goods did still increase,
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and riches in did slide:
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So more and more his hardened heart
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did swell in hatefull pride:
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But it fell out upon a time,
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when ten yeares woe was past,
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Unto his Sunne he did repaire
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for some reliefe at last.
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And being come unto his house
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in very poore array:
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It chanced so that with his Sonne,
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great States should dine that day.
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The poore old man with hat in hand
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did then the Porter pray,
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To shew his Sonne that at the gate
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his Father there did stay.
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Whereat this proud disdainefull wretch,
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with taunting speeches said,
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That long agoe his Fathers bones
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within the Grave were laid:
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What rascall then is that quoth he,
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that staineth so my state?
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I charge thee Porter presently
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to drive him from my gate.
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Which answer, when the old man heard
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he was in minde dismaid:
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He wept, he waild, he wrung his hands,
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and thus at length he said:
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O cursed wretch, and most unkind,
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and worker of my woe,
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Thou monster of humanitie,
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and eke thy Fathers Foe:
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Have I beene carefull of thy case,
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maintaining still thy state,
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And dost thou now so doggedly,
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inforce me from thy gate:
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And have I wrongd thy brethren all[,]
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from thrall to set thee free:
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And brought my selfe to beggers stat[e]
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and all to succour thee?
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Woe worth the time when first of all
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thy body I espyd,
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Which hath in hardnesse of thy hear[t]
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thy Fathers face denyd.
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But now behold how God that time,
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did shew a wonder great;
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Even where his Son with all his frie[nds]
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were setled downe to meat.
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For when the fayrest Pye was cut,
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a strange and dreadfull case,
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Most ugly Toades came crawling ou[t]
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and leaped at his face.
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Then did this wretch his fault confesse
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and for his father sent.
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And for his great ingratitude,
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full sore he did repent.
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All vertuous Children learne by this
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obedient hearts to show,
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And honour still your Parents deare,
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for God commanded so:
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And thinke how he did turne his mea[t]
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to poysoned Toads indeed,
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Which did his Fathers face deny,
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because he stood in need.
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