The Worlds Wonder.
Or, A strange and miraculous work of Gods pro-
vidence, shewed to a poor distressed widdow and her seven small father-
lesse children, who lived by a burnt six penny-loaf of bread, and a little
water, for above seven weeks, in the wilde of Kent
To the Tune of, Chevy Chase.
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TAke comfort Christians all,
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for never shall you see,
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The faithful sort forsaken quite,
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and left in misery,
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Who lives and loves to hear,
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the truth in each degree,
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The story of a Widdows plaint,
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let them give ear to mee.
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Who by this widdow here
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sufficient have been tryd,
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The which was left both poor and bare
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when as her Husband dyd.
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And seven young Children small,
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upon her hands likewise,
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And knew not how to buy them bread,
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their hunger to suffice.
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She labours night and day,
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she spins and takes great pain,
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And many a thing to buy them bread,
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God knows she layes to pawn.
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But when this help did fail,
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as time consumeth all,
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Oh! then she knew not how to keep,
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her hungry Children small.
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Most Mighty God she said,
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cast down a tender eye,
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And suffer not thy servants here,
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in hunger for to dye.
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Thou that the Ravens did send,
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Elias for to feed,
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When that he was in Wildernesse,
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in extream want and need.
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And rained bread from Heaven,
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old Israel to preserve,
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And wouldst not in the Lyons den,
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let Daniel pine nor starve.
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I know my Lord she said,
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thou didst five thousand feed,
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With five small loaves of barly bread,
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as we in Scripture read.
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And each one had enough,
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their hunger to sustain,
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And afterwards twelve baskets full,
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of scraps did still remain,
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I know my Lord she said,
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thou art so mighty still,
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And therefore every thing be done,
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according to thy will.
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Her prayer ended thus,
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Her children cryed straight way,O mother dear give us some bread,
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we have eat none today.
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Give mee some bread said one,
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give mee some bread said another,
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And thus the silly Infants flock,
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about their carefull mother.
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The good soul hearing this,
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perswades them to be still,
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O soon at night my Lambs quoth shee,
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you shall have bread your fill.
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I will to market go,
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though corn be wondrous dear,
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And sell my Gown to buy a peck,
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if you will be quiet here.
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THe Children smild at this,
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content they did remain,
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Good Mother every one could say,
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come quickly home again.
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Three miles this woman went,
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unto the Market-town,
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And for five shillings at the last,
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she sold her russet Gown.
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Who being glad in heart,
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to Market streight she hies,
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But there alass her purse was cut,
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ere any corn she buyes,
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She cryeth out God wot,
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she weeps and makes great moan,
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To every one that passeth by,
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her grief she makes it known.
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But yet behold and see
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here in her woeful case
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Her husbands brother he was one
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that sold corn in that place.
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This woeful Woman then,
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did him desire and pray,
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To trust her with one peck of corn,
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till the next market day.
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But he denyes her flat,
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and thus he tells her plain
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I shall not have to serve my turne,
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till corne doth come again.
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More heed you might have took,
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unto your purse quoth he,
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And not to lose your money here,
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so fond and foolishly.
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These dogged answers cut
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this good soul to the heart,
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Especially when she did think,
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upon her infants smart.
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Who sits and strives at home,
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poor souls but all in va[i]ne,
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Which of them should the bigest peece,
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of bread and butter gain.
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But farre alass were they,
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from butter bread or cheese,
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Or any thing to comfort them
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that their poor Mother sees.
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But now behold Gods work,
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as homeward she returnd
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A bakers boy gave her a loaf
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which was in baking burnd.
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She gave God thanks for that,
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and joyfull in her hand
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She bears the bread home to her babes
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which waiting for her stand.
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She kisses them each one,
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and with a chearful look
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And said we will to supper go
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when you have said your book.
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Mean time she makes a fire
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and apples therein throw,
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The widdow and her seven Children,
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to supper sweetly go.
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The apples rosted well,
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and she doth cut them bread,
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On every peece most lovingly
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she doth the Apple spread.
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Instead of drink they had,
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a cup of water clear,
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And every Childe rejoyced much
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and said, here is good chear.
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Behold when they had supt,
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for God their food did blesse
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When they had supt and were sufficd,
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the loaf was never the lesse,
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For seven weeks spa[c]e together
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as storys plainly spread,
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The Widdow and her seven children
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by this one loaf was fed.
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The Cut-purse-man I say,
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he broke his neck in Kent,
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Ere he of this poor Widdows Coyn,
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one single penny had spent,
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And yet behold and see,
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her husbands churlish brother,
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Which would not lend a peck of corn,
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to succor one or other,
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Had streight way after this,
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his corn clean washt away,
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All by a mighty flood that rose,
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before the break of day.
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The Gentlemen and such
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which did this wonder see,
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Unto the Widdow gave such gifts,
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that never more wanted she.
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Take comfort Christians all,
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for never shall you see,
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The faithful sort forsaken quite,
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and left in misery.
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