THE CRUEL COOPER,
OF RATCLIFF.
|
NEAR Ratcliff Cross liv'd a cooper there,
|
Who had a vitruos wife, comely and fair,
|
He by this prudent woman had a son,
|
Besides this youth they children ne'er had one,
|
Tho wise and prudent, yet this cruel man,
|
Did oftimes beat her with a cruel hand,
|
As he did one day, with grief of heart,
|
The youth with tears did take his mother's part.
|
Cries he, Father, I'm afraid you will,
|
With kicks and cuffs my tender mother kill,
|
Hearing these words he then his son did beat,
|
And that night turn'd him into the street,
|
Saying, if thou com'st here any more,
|
I'll break thy bones, he then lock'd the door,
|
In the wide street this lad did lay all night,
|
And in the morning came when it was light.
|
But when this man look'd and saw his son,
|
In a vast passion he to him did run,
|
And with an axe knoc'd him on the crown,
|
Which laid the youth along upon the ground.
|
Being thus serv'd in tears he did lament,
|
Then he got up and out of doors he went,
|
Saying, if I should any longer stay,
|
He in his wrath will take my life away.
|
And prevent what dangers may ensue,
|
Father and mother he bids both adieu;
|
And having knowledge of his father's trade,
|
Went Cooper's mate to Turkey it is said.
|
He lik'd the country so well we find
|
The ship came back. and left the lad behind;
|
He plac'd himself with a native to dwell,
|
Whose family lov'd him very well.
|
Tho' young in years he was grown very tall,
|
And of a comely countenance withal;
|
The native damsel did him much admire,
|
And to enjoy him she had a vast desire
|
His master kept him for his servant man,
|
And in a short time, by death's destroying hand;
|
His master happened to trip away,
|
Who being dead the young man bore the sway.
|
His mistress lov'd him as she did her life
|
And in a short time was made his lawful wife;
|
She was prodigious rich we understand,
|
And she had many slaves at her command.
|
Now I will leave him for a little while,
|
With Providence on him and her to smile,
|
And in the next part some enquiry make,
|
What sort of life this cruel sire doth take,
|
Near Radcliff Cross he lived years tis known
|
And to his wife he was a cruel one;
|
And in process of time death did them part,
|
And 'tis supposed this man broke her heart,
|
And after her death he could not thrive at all,
|
Day after day he down at heels did fall,
|
And by degrees this man was brought so low,
|
For debt himself he was afraid to shew,
|
The bailiff waited for him day and night,
|
He knowing of the same kept out of sight,
|
And to prevent his going into jail,
|
In a merchantman he unto sea did sail.
|
Thus he for debt was forc'd to fly from home,
|
And on the raging seas where billows foam
|
To their great grief, this man and twenty more,
|
Were carried pris'ners to the Turkish shore
|
It happened so, as we understand,
|
They were made slaves unto his son's command;
|
Full half a year in slavery they had been.
|
In all which time his son he had not seen,
|
This cooper he was aged sixty two,
|
Who was the oldest of the ship's crew;
|
Being stiff with age his task could not perform,
|
By which he suffered many a heavy blow.
|
The task master to him was sharp indeed,
|
He often whipped him till he made him bleed;
|
Upon a time he lash'd him so one day,
|
He could no longer stand, but down did lay,
|
Being laid down the task-master did go,
|
And gave the head master this to know;
|
Crying Sir, your slave he is an aged man,
|
Will not perform his task do all that I can.
|
He tells me plainly, that his work is done,
|
When, hearing this, the head master his son,
|
Went out among the slaves, where he found,
|
His aged father lying on the ground.
|
Not knowing him with great severity,
|
He lash'd his father very grieviously,
|
Which made him cry, Oh, Sir, my flesh is very sore,
|
Do hold thy hand, and strike me no more
|
The task is hard your servant puts on me,
|
What can I do that I am most free,
|
To suffer this I'm not able to live,
|
Kill me outright and I will you forgive
|
Hearing these words his son did him view,
|
And said tell me what countryman are you?
|
His answer was I came from Old England,
|
I am a cooper, Sir, from fair London.
|
My name is Robert Stark, 'tis known right well
|
I was a man in great repute did dwell,
|
But as it prov'd fortune frowned on me,
|
Now 'tis my lot your suffering slave to be.
|
Have you no family, he replied no;
|
I buried a wife seven years ago,
|
And I had a son a hopeful child was he,
|
Three years before her death he went from me.
|
I have not heard from him now all the while,
|
I cruel was both to my wife and child,
|
And I do really think now from my heart,
|
'Tis now for my cruelty, I thus do smart,
|
Now hearing this, his son with grief was fill'd,
|
And tears like water that was finely still'd,
|
Ran down his cheeks amain tear after tear,
|
To think that he had lash'd his father dear.
|
Then he aside this task-master did call,
|
And said, do not abuse this man at all,
|
He is my father, but don't let him know,
|
I am his son. Then home he did go
|
And to his closet he in private went,
|
And there with bitter cries did sore lament,
|
At length by chance his wife did him hear,
|
Who said what makes you so grieve my dear.
|
His answer was to grieve great cause I have,
|
For my own father is become my slave;
|
Not knowing him I lash'd him o'er and o'er,
|
To think of this grieveth me very sore.
|
To think the curse of God should light on me
|
But what I did it was innocently.
|
O, wife what shall I do? my heart doth bleed,
|
Do let my father come to me with speed,
|
They sent for him and when he came there,
|
They of his tender flesh did take great care,
|
His bleeding wounds were anointed with oil,
|
And the poor man stood trembling all the while.
|
This being done, choice linen, fine and soft,
|
And other costly things to him were brought,
|
And in these garments when he was array'd,
|
To them with tears lift up his eyes and said.
|
Lord what am I more than another slave,
|
That I such favour of my master have,
|
Blessed be his name that my friend doth stand,
|
To pity me thus in a foreign land.
|
Hearing these words his son could not refrain;
|
His tears from falling down, and wept amain,
|
He said, the man, who thus has for you done,
|
Behold, he is your dear and only son.
|
I'm grieved to think that I proved so severe;
|
To lay my hands upon my father dear,
|
But God will pardon me, because
|
I did not know that thou my father was.
|
Hearing these words like one struck in amaze,
|
He with a blush then on his son did gaze,
|
Saying, are you my son?---- alas! alas!
|
By this we see what God can bring to pass.
|
My son, my son, I'm glad thy face to see,
|
But what astonishment is here for me,
|
That I, who beat my child quite out of door,
|
Should thus be forc'd his favour to implore,
|
Father, the Lord did these things foresee,
|
That you should come your child's slave to be,
|
And God was pleas'd these things to do by you,
|
To shew what he can bring proud mortals too.
|
The Lord has plac'd us here to live and reign,
|
To be thy friends to ease thee of thy pain,
|
I'll succour thee till death, and for thy sake,
|
I of my native slaves great care will take.
|
He cherish'd him oftimes, but on a day,
|
His wife was pleas'd then these words to say,
|
Husband, because he was cruel unto you,
|
I ne'er shall love your father, that is true
|
I do not care that he should here remain,
|
From whence he came let him return again,
|
And unto him we will some riches give,
|
Enough to cherish him while he doth live.
|
For quietness sake he made this reply,
|
But turn'd him round and wept most bitterly,
|
To think that he must from his father part
|
Grief like a spear stuck him unto the heart.
|
Then in short time his father left the shore,
|
And in a merchantman ship he did come o'er,
|
Again to England, and did bring to town
|
As much in riches as five thousand pounds.
|
He ow'd a hundred pounds, which he paid,
|
When being out of debt, these words he said,
|
First my dear God, I give thanks to thee,
|
Next for my child, my prayers shall be,
|
For had it been another, I deserv'd,
|
In slavery till death, I must have serv'd,
|
And ne'er had met one in that distant place,
|
Thus to commiserate my wretched case.
|
Now to conclude young men let these lines,
|
Be well engrav'd in your hearts and minds
|
That is to serve the Lord and shun the devil.
|
And like this young man still do good for evil.
|
|
|
|
|
|