THE TRAGICAL BALLAD OF THE
NOBLEMAN's CRUELTY
TO HIS SON.
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BOTH parents and lovers I pray now attend,
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Unto this relation which her I have penn'd,
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Tis of a young squire that now I do write,
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Who courted his father's maid day and night.
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Tho' she was a servant, of mean degree,
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And he a young squire, as rich as might be.
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He met his madam one day in the hall
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Unto her this compliment then he let fall.
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Thou sweetest jewel, and joy of my heart,
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It's a pleasure to meet but a grief to part,
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Now grant me the favour thy joys to restore,
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Since never was lover so wounded before.
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For thee I have suffered much sorrow and pain,
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Therefore my jewel, do not me disdain,
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But send a soft glance from thy beautiful eye,
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To comfort thy love who anguishing lies,
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The damsel she stood like a person struck dumb,
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While blood like flashes of light'ning did come,
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At length sh[e] broke silence: young squire forbear,
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I am your servant therefore forbear.
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There's many young ladies of honour and fame,
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That's fit for your grandeur, and equal your name,
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But I am a damsel of mean degree
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Content in this station, your servant to be.
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There's none in the world I admire like thee,
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Then why will my jewel be cruel to me?
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And cause me with anguish to sigh and complain,
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O wound me no more with cruel disdain.
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What weapon's comp[a]r[e]d with the arrow of love
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It goes thro' the heart and often does prove,
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Destruction, if Cupid hath power to sieze,
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If the wounds in our sleep we die by d[e]grees.
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In letters of love I ove here I lie at your feet,
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Receive my petition vouchsafe to complete,
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My happiness in sweet raptures of joy,
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No longer be cruel, no longer be coy.
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What m[ak[es th[e]e si[l]ent sweet Susan the fair?
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Why must I live between hope and despair?
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O why in this lingering state must I bleed?
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Restore me to life or dispatch me with speed,
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At his melting words she began to comply,
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With sighs from her heart and tears from her eyes,
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I consent noble squ[i]re to be your bride,
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But what will become of us both she cry'd.
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When the noble Kni[i]ght your father dear,
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And the good lady, your mother doth hear?
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We both shall be ruin'd, Ne'er fear it said he,
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My dear Susan be wedded in private to me.
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NEXT morning in private they both wedded were
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No triumph was seen, but industrious care,
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He kiss'd her, and said I[']ll be true to thee dear,
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And no friend I have this blessing shall hear,
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So love I would have you be p[r]ivate awhile,
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Discover it not, tho' you should be with child
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Speak nothing of wedding, speak nothing of me,
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For fear my parents prove cruel to thee.
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Take courage and suffer shame for awhile,
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Untill my parents we can reconcile;
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And in a short time we shall come to agree,
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If thou dear jewel will be ru[l]'d by me
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With kisses and loving embraces likewise,
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She vow'd she would, with tears in her eyes,
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They parted and none of his friends it is said,
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Knew that the squire had wedded his maid
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But now comes the grief and sorrow at last,
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When five or six m[o]nths were gone and past,
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So large in the waist she began to shew,
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Her coats and aprons too short did grow.
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Her lady said what is the matter now,
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Methinks you look mighty big Mrs Sue,
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Come tell with whom you the wanton play'd,
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For you are with child. Yet nothing she said.
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What spark Mrs. Susan has led you astray,
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Come tell me or else I will turn you away
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Yet she would say nothing bu[t] s[e]em'd discontent,
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With tears in her eyes from her service she went.
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To one of the t[e]nants then straight she did go,
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And there did abide in sorrow and woe,
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Unti[l] travailng pains came on her so fast,
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As woman and midwife where sent for at last.
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Now while this poor soul was in racking pain,
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The woman and midwife with much disdain,
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Come tell us the father the midwife did cry,
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Or else you in sorrow and anguish must lie.
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An honest good husb[a]nd I have I declare,
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Whose honour[e]d name awhil[e] I forbear,
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To mention, altho' my life I do pay
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For my sweet husband I'll never b[e]tray.
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Because of his noble honour and fam,
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Then came in the squire the squire by name.
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Who under the window had listen[']d awhile,
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Crying out midwife, Deliver the child
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H[o]w dare you deny to deliver my wife,
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Whom I do love as dear as my life,
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The midwife and woman said Madam sit down,
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And soon we will bring the young squire a son.
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BUT as to what follows in the third part,
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I'm sure it will pierce each true lover's heart,
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I think in all England the like ne'er was known,
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And so I pray take heed every one.
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It was told his parents the very next day,
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How Mrs. Susan whom they turned away,
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For being with child was her son's wife,
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Who vows that he loves her as dear as his life,
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I cannot believe it, the father he said,
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Nor I, says his mother, she's none of his bride,
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Now while they were talking the squire came in,
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When soon his sorrow and grief did begin.
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We wish you much joy the father he said,
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Was there no one more fit to be your bride,
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Than Mrs. Susan of parents so poor,
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If she be your bride we'll own you no more.
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The squire then fell upon his knees,
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Dear parents, you may do as you please,
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Altho' the same should cost me my life,
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Sweet Susan indeed, I have chosen for my wife,
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And should be the same was she poorer than Job,
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And I a prince royal or lord of the globe,
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That jewel, Sweet Susan, I swear shall be mine,
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Well well said the mother, it is my design.
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To banish you both tho' it cost me my life,
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You'll have but small comfort in her for a wife,
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His mother away in passion did run,
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Declaring she'd murder both her and her son,
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What meanest thou thus, O mother said he,
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It is no christian[']s part thus cruel to be,
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O worst of women, what would you have done,
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Murder poor innocents to plague your son,
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The lady his mother with ambitious heart,
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Said nothing to him but thence did depart,
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Now in a short time after they found out a way,
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The life of a squire, the son to betray.
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The very next morning they sent for their son,
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I have sw[o]rn, said the father, and it must be done,
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Come strive for to please your mother and me,
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Tomorrow my son you are bound for the sea.
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Along with brave Ormond and Rooke you must go
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To fight the proud French and Spaniards also,
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And in the mean time I will strive my dear child,
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For to make your mother and you reconcil'd,
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I'll likewise be kind to your wife and son,
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Well then noble father, your will shall be done,
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He came to his Susan with a heart full of woe,
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And said my dear jewel from you I must go,
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Therefore, my sweet wife, I bid you adieu,
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Since my cruel parents they do force me from you,
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Alas! for to plough the watry main,
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Kind heaven protect thee till I come again.
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My father commands me to sail next wind,
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I hope in short time to us he'll be kind.
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Now while he was telling his sorrowful tale,
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The wind it grew high, and the ship set sail.
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THEY sail'd next morning for the coast of Spain,
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But Oh! the poor squire return'd not again.
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A desperate cannon ball, did seperate,
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His head from his body, at Vigo of late.
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thought that his parents had order'd it so,
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If possible he should be slain by the foe,
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For in a short time after as I do declare,
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The ghost of the squire to him did appear,
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And came to his father and mother that night,
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The room it appear'd like day, 'twas so light,
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The apparition appear'd in blood,
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With his head in his hand at the bed side he stood.
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With three bitters groans he was heard to cry,
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It was you, cruel mother, caused my destiny,
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And then with a groan or two, vanish'd away,
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But still he appear'd unto them each day.
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With them in a coach at noon-day did ride,
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And walked in the garden close by their side:
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And many a prank with his mother he play'd,
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It is no great matter, his father he said
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Thro' my cruel pride, I have lost my son,
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Thou worst of women, see what thou hast done,
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So to his son's wife, he went as we hear,
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And settled upon her two hundred a year.
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Unknown to my lady, sweet daughter, said he,
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This is to maintain my grandson, and thee,
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By reason your husband my son is dead,
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Oh! then I am ruin'd, I am ruin'd she said,
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Was ever poor damsel afflicted like me,
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My sweetest of husbands is dead in the sea,
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She kiss'd her dear infant a thousand times o'er.
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Now thy father is dead, none but thee I adore.
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Do not, my dear daughter, be dissatisfied,
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For you and your infant I mean to provide,
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'Twas my unkind lady caused this discontent,
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And so up to London away she was sent.
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Where now I will leave her in sorrow and woe,
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To shew how the spirit perplexed them so,
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And causes them to lament day and night.
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When straight for the clergy, his father did write.
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When these learned men from Oxford did come,
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If you can but lay the spirit of my son,
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Five hundred pounds to you I will pay,
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He haunts me wherever I go night and day,
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Most part of the night he did with them contend,
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At last, being conquer'd, he begg'd of them,
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That they would not put him into the Red Sea,
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No, no said clergy, we grant it to thee.
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Sir Knight, said the clergy where shall it be laid,
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In my pond under that island he said
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Now in this island e'er since has been seen,
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A small tree, which in winter and summer is green.
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His father said I have ruin'd my son
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His mother cried out, Oh! what have I done!
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His wife laments for her own squire dear,
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And so let the tragical story end here.
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