A Ballad; Intituled, The Old Mans Complaint against h[is]
Wretched Son, who to Advance his Marriage, did undo himself.
To the same Tune.
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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 wealthily,
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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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uncontroul'd 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 woe 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 went to sit,
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chief at the Tables end,
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Now like a Servant 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 coughing 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 doting 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 woful 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 i'le never dye:
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O Lord an't be thy will,
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look on my woful 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 man's plaint
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every night and day,
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With woe he wared faint,
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but mark what I shall 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 clog'd with Golden Coin,
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yet led a grievous life.
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Seven years they married were,
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and yet in all that space,
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God sent them ne'r 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 exil'd,
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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 joyful Child,
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of my own body born,
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Full oft I am revil'd,
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of this my barren Womb:
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Much Physick did she take,
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to make a fruitful soil,
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And with access thereof,
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her body she did spoyl.
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Full of grief full of pain,
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full of each 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 money 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 had my health,
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and from this pain was 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 my health had,
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though I were ne'r so poor,
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I car'd 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 woful case,
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and great extremity.
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Thus liv'd 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 the bed.
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Her Husband full of grief,
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consumed wofully,
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His body pin'd away,
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suddenly he did dye:
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Ere thirteen years were past,
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dy'd 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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Injoy'd his Land at last,
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after much misery,
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Many years after that,
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liv'd 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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