A most notable and worthy example of an ungratious Sonne, who in the pride of his
hart denied his owne Father: and how God for his offence turned his meate into
loathsome Toades.
To the tune of Lord Darley.
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IN searching famous Chronicles,
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it was my chaunce to reed,
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A worthy storie strange and true,
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whereto I tooke good heed:
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Betwixt a Farmer and his Sonne,
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this rare example standes:
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which wel may move the hardest harts
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to weepe and wring their handes,
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This Farmer in the Country dwelt,
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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 traffique great he usd,
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So that he was exceeding rich,
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till he himselfe abusd.
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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 foorth,
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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 credite cleane was cract
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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 greevous debts to pay.
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And lying in this carefull case,
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his eyes with teares besprent,
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The lewdnes for his former life,
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too late he did repent.
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And being voyde 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 heedful eares
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my loving Father deare,
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And graunt I pray in gratious sort,
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my pittious plaintes to heare.
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Forgive the foule offences all
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of thy unthriftie Sonne:
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which through the lewdnes of his life,
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hath now himselfe undone.
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O my good Father take remorce,
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on this my extreame neede:
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And succour his distressed state,
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whose hart for woe doth bleed.
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In dolefull dungeon heere I lie,
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my feete 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 pittie therefore pearce your brest,
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and mercy move your minde,
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And to release my miserie,
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some shift sweete Father finde.
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My chiefest cheare is bread ful brown
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the boordes my softest bed:
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And flinty stones for pillowes serves,
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to rest my troubled head.
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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 eates my flesh,
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most greevous 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 die,
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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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perusde this written scrowle:
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But trickling teares along his cheeks
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from watry eyes 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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what ever it doth cost.
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Two hundred heads of well fed beasts
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he changed then for gold:
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Foure hundred quarters eke of corne,
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for silver there he sold.
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But all the same could not suffize,
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that haynous debt to pay:
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Till he at length constrained 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 left likewise as well to live,
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as he before had been.
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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 lyving quite away,
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and eke himselfe undone.
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So that he lyved 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 corpes to feed:
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His Sonne meane time in silkes did swim
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whose substance now was such:
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That sure within the Cittie walles,
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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 hardned hart,
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did swell in hatefull pride:
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But it befell upon a time,
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when ten yeeres woe was past,
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Unto his Sonne 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 aray,
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It chaunced 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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Wherat this proud disdainfull wretch
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with taunting speeches sayd,
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That long agoe his Fathers boones,
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within the grave was layd:
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What Rascall then is that quoth he,
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that stayneth 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 answere when the old man heard
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he was in minde dismayde:
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He wept, he waild, he wrong his hands
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and thus at length he sayd.
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O cursed wretch, and most unkind,
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thou worker of my woe:
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Thou monster to humanitie,
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and eke thy Fathers foe.
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Have I bin carefull of thy case,
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maintayning still thy state:
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And dost thou now so doggedly,
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enforce 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 myselfe to beggers state
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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 espide:
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Which hast in hardnes of thy hart,
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thy Fathers face denide.
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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 when his son with al his friends
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were setled downe to meate.
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For when the fairest Pie was cut,
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a strange and dreadfull case,
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Most uglie Toads came crawling out
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and leaped in his face.
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Then did the wretch his fault confesse
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and for his Father sent,
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And then 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 hartes to show:
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And honour still your Parents deare,
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for God commaundeth so.
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And thinke how God did turne his meate
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to poysond Toades indeed:
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Which did his Fathers face denie,
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because he stood in need.
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