The Gloucestershire Tragedy.
Or, The Unnatural Mother.
|
BOTH young and old, I pray draw near,
|
And tender parents that have children dear,
|
Aare but a iittle time along with me,
|
And you shall hear a dreadful tragedy.
|
Dreadful enough it is, tho certain true,
|
I must confess the like I never knew.
|
Even a heart of stone that doth it hear,
|
Im sure that it will make them shed a tear.
|
Twas at a place calld Wells in Gloucestershire,
|
Livd Mr. Gibbs, who had a daughter fair,
|
All that he had in ten years by his wife,
|
He was the joy and comfort of his life.
|
This child she was but seven years of age,
|
Those carriage did her fathers heart engage,
|
He doated on the ground that she did go,
|
And twas no wonder that he lovd her so.
|
For charming features none could her excel,
|
Of sweet behaviour, it is known full well.
|
She had a temper affable and mild,
|
And also was a most obedient child.
|
And tho with all these blessings she was gracd,
|
Her mother could not bear to see her face,
|
Altho her child, and from her body bore,
|
And often would her mothers love implore.
|
Sometimes unto her mother she would say,
|
Mamma, what makes you look so cross to day?
|
You dont seem pleasd; what is it I have done?
|
Then strait a slap or two from her would come.
|
Out of her mothers sight away shed run,
|
But never told her father what was done.
|
She all her mothers blows with patience bore,
|
Sure such a child was never known before.
|
PART II.
|
BUT now comes on the dismal tragic part,
|
Death having struck her father to the heart,
|
A debt which all of us one time must pay,
|
For when God pleases we must all obey.
|
As stretched on his death bed he was laid,
|
Unto his wife with fainting voice he said,
|
Take care of my dear child when I am gone
|
From this vain world, that none doth wrong.
|
And my estate, four thousand pounds a year,
|
I leave you and my only daughter dear.
|
Her portion let her have when shes of age,
|
Pray for my sake observe what I have said.
|
And if before that she to age should come,
|
She dies, then you enjoy your total sum;
|
Thi[s] is my will I have orderd it so,
|
Both you and her I love, you well do know.
|
But dearest friends that ever were must part,
|
And so must we, which cuts me to the heart.
|
But still I hope that we shall meet again,
|
In Heaven above for ever to remain.
|
Answerd his wife, with a dissembling cry,
|
O husband dear, could I but with you die,
|
I freely could resign my breath!
|
No comfort can I find after your death.
|
As for your will I freely shall obey,
|
In all that you are pleasd to order me,
|
I will take care of her as you designd.
|
So never let such things disturb your mind.
|
His thread of life now being almost spun,
|
The child was calld, who eagerly did run,
|
In floods of tears did to her father say:
|
O father dear, what is your will with me?
|
He answerd, Child, long I cannot llve,
|
So now my blessing to you I will give.
|
His hands he tenderly laid on her head,
|
And then these moving words to her he said,
|
Pray God preserve, and send thee health and peace,
|
And may thy mind in heavenly things increase.
|
More he would speak to her, but cruel death
|
Did put a stop, and took away his breath.
|
A decent funeral for him was made,
|
And when his body in the ground was laid,
|
This child did in a tender way address
|
Her mother, and these words she did express:
|
PART III.
|
DOWN on her bended knees said, Mother dear,
|
I am sorry for your loss, I do declare.
|
But still I think we ought not to complain,
|
For our loss is my own fathers gain.
|
Remember that our blessed Saviour he
|
Has promis'd our great comforter to be,
|
He says, The widows wants he will redress,
|
And be a father to the fatherless.
|
One more advantage, mother, you have still,
|
My Gods commands I promise to fulfil.
|
You I likewise will honour and obey,
|
In every thing you please to order me.
|
These moving words still could not penetrate
|
Into her wicked heart; she still did hate
|
This blessed child, who never deservd scorn,
|
And often wishd she never had been born.
|
This wretch most covetous did prove so vile,
|
She was resolvd to murder her own child;
|
That she the whole estate might then enjoy.
|
So all her thoughts on this she did employ.
|
But first of all, Ive some things to relate:
|
A gentleman who had a vast estate,
|
Came for to court the mother, and his suit
|
She soon embracd without the least dispute.
|
Altho three weeks were hardly past and gone
|
Since her husbands death, she thought it long,
|
Ere her condition she alterd once more,
|
Which when this child knew it grievd her sore.
|
Soon as the gentleman was gone one day,
|
Unto her cruel mother she did say,
|
Mamma, this gentleman who comes to you,
|
I hope he dont intend your love to sue.
|
Yes, sure he does, and must your father be,
|
How do you like him, quickly tell to me?
|
Not at all, mamma, the child replyd,
|
Tis not a month since my poor father dyd.
|
And can you so soon forget his death,
|
When he lovd you thus while he livd on earth;
|
Besides, mother, I have one thing to say,
|
For you methinks he is too young and gay.
|
At this her mother in a passion flew,
|
Saying, Suppose he is, whats that to you?
|
The marriage-day is fixd, you saucy jade,
|
And for your insolence you shall be paid.
|
PART IV.
|
NOW for to conclude this barbarous deed,
|
She did report it all about with speed,
|
That her dear child was sick, and kept her bed.
|
They little thinking what was in her head.
|
She kept her child confind to her room,
|
She little thought, dear child, of her wretched doom,
|
This infant often would sit down and cry,
|
Dear Lord, what means my mothers cruelty?
|
At last this wicked wretch contrivd the deed,
|
Having none in the house but just one maid.
|
Whom she gave leave to go and see her friends.
|
While she contrivd to do her wicked ends.
|
The maid being gone, she thought all was right,
|
So to the child she went that very night.
|
With a small dagger hid between her breast.
|
Till she had done the deed she could not rest.
|
With a dissemble said, Child, how do you do?
|
She said, Mamma, better to see you.
|
My very heart doth leap, mother, said she,
|
That you do look so pleasantly on me.
|
The dagger from her bosom then she drew,
|
The child being startled, from her mother flew.
|
She said, Hussy, I am come to end your days.
|
The child answerd, The Lord above be praisd.
|
But pray, dear mother, dont so hasty be;
|
Spare me a moment longer here to be.
|
That you may hear some words I have to say.
|
Then your commands Ill readily obey.
|
I was surprizd, mother, when first you
|
From your bosom the glittering dagger drew,
|
But now I understand what you intend,
|
It is to put my life in a blest hand.
|
Oh! its for you, dear mother, that I grieve,
|
Not for myself that I this world must leave.
|
I value not these baubles here on earth.
|
Dear Lord, theres no repentance after death.
|
Then on her bended knees she did fall,
|
And unto her heavenly God aloud did call.
|
For to forgive her mother while on earth.
|
Dear Lord, theres no repentance after death.
|
These words might have turnd a heart of lead.
|
But being tired, to the child she said,
|
Pray how much time must I on you bestow?
|
She answerd, Ill just pray, then give the blow.
|
She having prayd, her mother gave the wound.
|
And as she lay bleeding on the ground,
|
This child said, Mother tho you neer lovd me,
|
I hope in heaven I your soul shall see.
|
Thus spoke the lamb, and so closd up her eye.
|
This hardend wretch was not at all surprizd,
|
But gave it out her daughter dear was dead,
|
And in the ground she quickly had her laid.
|
No one suspecting what this wretch had done,
|
Thought she was safe.--The maid coming home.
|
Askd for the child? but answer soon was made
|
How she was dead, and in the grave was laid.
|
At this the maid most bitterly did weep,
|
And being vexd in mind, she could not sleep.
|
She lovd the child entirely, tis sure.
|
She never after could the house endure.
|
PART V.
|
BUT now comes on the closing of the scene
|
Of cruelty, which God will never screen
|
He was resolvd to bring it unto light,
|
And that it should be on the wedding night
|
A splendid entertainment she had made,
|
To entertain her wedding-guests, tis said.
|
No cost was spard to crown their mutual joys,
|
But this fine banquet quickly was destroyd.
|
As soon as at the table they set down,
|
A glorious shining light did them surround.
|
This blessed babe did in the midst appear,
|
Which struck them with horror and fear.
|
Her precious blood did like crimson flow
|
From her breast that lookd as white as snow.
|
Her mother still undantedly did sit,
|
And askd her husband why he did not eat.
|
But so surprizd he could no answer make,
|
Nor any one that in the room sat.
|
At last the apparition aloud did say,
|
Repent, mother; and so vanishd away,
|
Her guests they presently did go away,
|
Out of the grave the child was took next day,
|
And viewd by people that came far and near,
|
For this sweet baby was shed many a tear.
|
This bloody wretch was to prison sent,
|
But does not seem as if she does repent.
|
The shocking fact she stiffly does deny,
|
But from just vengeance now she cannot fly.
|
At Gloucester assize she will tried be,
|
And also cast for this sad cruelty,
|
Her punishment cannot be too severe,
|
For spilling such innocent blood so dear.
|
You coveteous wretches that do hear her talk,
|
I hope a warning it will be to all.
|
Who for the sake of worldly wealth did kill
|
Her precious infant, that never did ill.
|
|
|
|
|
|