The Unnatural FATHER:
Or, The Dutiful SONs Reward.
PART I.
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HERE is a looking-glass for children dear,
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A looking-glass I say, therefore draw near,
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And view the mercies which the lord extends
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To those that are obedient to their friends.
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If parents do the thing that is not right,
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Setting their hearts, their loves, and whole delight,
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Upon one child, and eke the other wrong.
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Trust in the Lord, whose hand and arm is strong.
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In his due time he will these things redress.
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He never leaves his servants comfortless.
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As by this true reltion you may find.
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If you his works of providence will mind.
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In Dorsetshir a wealthy man of late.
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Two sons he had, likewise a vast estate.
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The one he loved with affection pure,
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The other son he never could endure.
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But kept him meaner then the vilest slave,
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And often wishd him in the silent grave.
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As they at each time then at variance fell,
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But for what reason none alive can tell.
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A more obedient son was seldom seen.
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Modest in carriage, of a genteel mein.
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Yet neertheless his father did him slight,
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And never could endure him in his sight.
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Or if he did hed frown upon him still,
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No peace, no joy, no love, or kind good-will
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Could he receive from his fathers hands.
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Who strove to cut him off from all his lands.
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Many a stroke and heavy blow he felt,
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Which often causd his youthful eye to melt
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Into a flood of sad lamenting tears.
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Thus he with patience sufferd many years.
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The darling son was cloathd in rich array,
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And often did his gaudy plumes display.
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Making his fathers gold and silver fly,
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Like summers dust, in jovial company.
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While he was thus supported in his pride,
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The other son was scornd and villifyd.
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And by his father often spurnd and beat.
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Who seemed then to grudge the bread he eat.
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Father, said he, what is the cause of this?
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If I have acted anything amiss,
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Tell me my fault, and I will surely mend,
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For loath I am my parents to offend.
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At this his fathers wrath encreased more,
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And with these words he thrust him out of door,
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Go take your lot beyond the ocean main,
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And never let me see your face again.
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The son he little said, but did part
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From friends and father with a heavy heart.
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Encompassd round with sorrow, grief, and care,
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To seek his fortune, but he knew not where.
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Poor heart, when this unhappy chance did fall,
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He nothing had then to subsist withal.
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Yet carefully he travelld all the day,
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And then at night upon cold earth he lay.
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Next morning sleeping on the rural plain,
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He was awakend by a shepherd swain,
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Who came that way, and having heard his grief,
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Out of his scrip he give him some relief.
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This done, in humble sort he took his leave,
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With many thanks for what he did receive.
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And so went on to famous London-town.
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Where for a time he wanderd up and down.
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And wanting friends on board he went at last,
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Over the roaring ocean wide he past.
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Where we will leave him to Gods providence,
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And shew the other brothers insolence.
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PART II.
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WHEN parents doat upon a certain child,
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He often proves reverse, stubborn, and wild;
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And brings them to the greatest sorrow here,
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As from this late account it will appear.
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One of his sons thus gone beyond the seas,
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The other with his parents livd at ease.
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Until by fruits of sinful wantonness
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His family was brought to great distress.
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As you shall hear, for many pounds he spent
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Among the taverns which he did frequent,
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Where for a harlots sake, a man he killd,
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And therefore was in chains and fetters held
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At Dorchester, in order to be tryd.
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His father hearing of the news replyd,
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He shall not die, and go down to the grave,
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If all that eer I have his life can save.
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To one in town he mortgagd all his land,
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Raising five hundred pound then out of land,
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To keep his darling son from dismal thrall,
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But yet, dear loving friends, this is not all:
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For he once more did violate the laws,
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And was transported for that very cause,
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From Dorchester, over the raging main,
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Never to see his native land again,
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His aged father did in tears lament,
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His land was mortgagd, and his money spent
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Upon their wicked child, which grievd them sore,
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Besides he owd two hundred pounds or more.
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For which he cold no satisfaction make,
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Wherefore to jail they did this body take.
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In tears he wept, beseeching for relief,
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His chief companion that he had was grief.
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His downy Beds were turnd to Bed of Straw,
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No comfortable friend alive he saw.
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For want of food he daily did repine.
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And tears of woe did serve instead of wine.
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With wringing hands he said, What have I done?
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How have I wrongd my well-beloving son?
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My son that was endowd with Christian grace,
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To succour him that brought me to this place.
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With these and many more lamenting cries,
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Distilled tears did trickle down his eyes.
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Where we will leave him in that sad distress,
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To show the slighted sons true happiness.
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PART III.
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NOW having treated of his grief and woe,
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As he from time to time did undergo,
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I come to shew you how Gods blessed hand
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Restord him from a prison to his land.
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Behold, that son so scornd and slighted here,
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In his distress kind providence did steer.
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From London-city to the Golden-shore.
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Where God for him a blessing had in store.
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For process of time behold he found
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A wealthy fortune worth ten thousand pound.
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A virtuous wife, most beautiful and fair,
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And had some thoughts to live and settle there.
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But each night he was so disturbd in mind,
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No ease nor satisfaction could he find.
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But still he dreamd most of his friends were dead,
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And that his aged father beggd his bread.
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Being disturbd with his nocturnal thought,
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His loving wife, with all his wealth, he brought
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Over the ocean to fair Weymouth-town,
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Appearing like some persons of renown.
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Then to his fathers house he did repair,
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And finding nothing else but strangers there,
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Concernd he was, so was his lady too,
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Supposing that his former dreams were true.
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When meeting with an ancient gentleman,
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He said, Kind sir, do tell me if you can,
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What is become of such a family?
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Fetching a sigh, to him he did reply,
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The darling son whom he did so adore,
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Has brought his aged father to be poor
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By his unparallelld sad villainies;
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And now for debt in Dorset-jail he lies.
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At this sad news his eyes did overflow,
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And said, My loving lady, let us go
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And see my aged father in distress.
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Alas! I cannot leave him comfortless.
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Then coming to the prison, he beheld
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His aged father dear with sorrow filld.
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Cloathed in rags, lean skin, and hollow eyes,
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Having no food his hunger to suffice.
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The young mans bowels yernd, his heart did bleed,
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Said he, Old father, tell me now with speed
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How long you have been close confined here,
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It this sad place of sorrow so severe?
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Right worthy sir, the aged man replyd,
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Your kind request shall soon be satisfyd,
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So he began and told him all his grief,
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And how his son had been the cause in chief.
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Had you no other son, said he, I pray?
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Yes, sir, but him I forcd away.
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One that was loving, courteous, kind and m
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No father could enjoy a sweeter child.
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But to my sorrow, here I must confess,
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I loved him that brought me to distress.
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The other I would not one smile allow,
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And so the hand of God is on me now.
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And is the mother of your sons alive?
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No, no, sir, she did not long survive,
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After the sad departure of the first,
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With utmost grief her tender heart did burst.
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For having sought her son both far and near,
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And could of him no tidings hear,
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Home she returnd, with tears took to her bed,
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And never after would be comforted.
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The young mans heart was full, he could not speak
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Therefore he did a private corner take,
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To weep his fill, and ease his soul of care,
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Which done, in jail a feast he did prepare.
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And calld his aged father to the same;
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Who cringd and bowd before him as he came.
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The young man said, Sure this may not be done
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Be coverd, father, for I am your son;
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That very son whom you forced away.
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Your lands I will redeem, your debts Ill pay,
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And prove a blessing to your ancient days.
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Dry up your tears, your fainting spirits raise.
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Art thou my son whom I so long withstood
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Art thou alive to do thy father good
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Blessed be God, this news doth cheer my heart
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Thy duty is much more than my desert.
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O say not so, my aged father dear,
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Who serve the Lord with a religious fear
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Must honour parents dear, for conscience sake,
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Or sure I am a great command they break.
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I have been harsh and most severe to thee
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And turnd thee out in thy minority
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To seek thy fortune; this I must confess.
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How can you pity me in my distress?
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In duty, father, I can all forgive.
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And further, while I have a day to live,
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What I have promised Ill surely do.
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The Lord hath prosperd me to comfort you
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Soon after this, they from the prison go,
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He cloathd his father from the top to toe;
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And placd him in his happy state once more,
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For which he gaind the love of rich and poor.
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