A Ballad intituled, The Old mans Complaint against his
wretched Son who to advance his marriage did undo himself.
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ALl you that Fathers be,
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look on my misery,
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Let not affection fond,
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work your extremity.
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For to advance my Son,
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in marriage wealthially,
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I have my self undone,
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without all remedy.
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I that was wont to live,
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uncontrould any way,
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With many checks and taunts,
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am grieved every day.
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Alack and wo is me,
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I that might late command,
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Cannot have a bit of bread,
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but at my childrens hand.
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While I was wont to sit,
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chief at the Table end,
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Now like a serving slave,
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must I on them attend.
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I must not come in place,
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where their friends merry be,
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Lest I should my Son disgrace,
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with my unreverency.
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My coghing in the night,
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offends my daughter in Law,
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My deafness and ill sight,
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doth much disliking draw.
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Fie on this doating fool,
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this crooked churl quoth she,
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The chimney corner still,
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must with him troubled be.
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I must rise from my chair,
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to give my children place,
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I must speak Servants fair,
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this is my wofull case.
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Unto their friends they tell,
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I must not say they lye
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That they do keep me here,
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even of meer charity.
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When I am sick in bed,
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they will not come me nigh,
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Each day they wish me dead,
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yet say ile never dye.
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O Lord ant be thy will,
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look on my wofull case
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No honest man before;
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ever took such disgrace.
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This was the old mans plaint
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every night and day,
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With wo he waxed faint,
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but mark what I must say.
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This rich and dainty pair,
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the young man and his wife
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Though clogd with golden coyn,
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yet led a grievous life.
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Seven year they married were,
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and yet in all this space,
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God gave them ner an heir
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their Riches to imbrace.
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Thus did their sorrow breed,
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joy was from them exild,
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Quoth she a hundred pound,
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would I give for a child.
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To have a joyfull child,
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of my own body born,
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Full oft am I Revild,
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of this my barrend womb.
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Much Physick did she take,
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to make a fruitfull soyl,
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And with excess thereof,
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she did her body spoyl.
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Full of grief full of pain,
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full of Ach grew she then,
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That she cries out amain,
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seek for some cunning men.
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That I my health may have,
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I will no mony spare,
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But that which she did crave,
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never fell to her share.
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Alack Alack she said,
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what Torments I live in,
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How well are they apaid,
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that truly ease can win.
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So that I my health had,
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and from this pain were free[;]
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I would give all my wealth,
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that blessed day to see.
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O that I had my health,
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though I were ner so poor,
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I card not though I went,
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begging from door to door.
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Fie on this muck quoth she,
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it cannot pleasure me,
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In this my wofull case,
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and great extremity.
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Thus livd she long in pain,
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all comfort from her fled,
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She strangled at the last,
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her self within her bed.
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Her husband full of grief,
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consuming wofully,
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His body pind away,
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suddenly he did die.
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Ere thirty years were past,
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dyd he without a will,
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And by this means at last,
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the old man living still.
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Injoyd his Land at last,
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after much misery,
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Many years after that,
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livd he most happily.
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Far Richer then before,
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by this means was he known,
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He helpt the sick and sore,
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the poor man overthrown.
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But this was all his Song,
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let all men understand,
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Those parents are accurst,
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live on their childrens hand.
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