The Children in the Wood:
OR, THE
Norfolk Gentleman's LAST WILL and
TESTAMENT.
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NOW ponder well, ye parents dear,
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These words which I shall write;
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A doleful story you shall hear,
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In time brought forth to light.
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A gentleman of good account
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In Norfolk dwelt of late,
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Who did in honour far surmount
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Most men of his estate.
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Sore sick he was, and like to die,
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No help his life could save;
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His wife by him as sick did lie,
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And both possest one grave.
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No love between these two was lost,
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Each was to th' other kind.
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In love they liv'd, in love they dy'd,
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And left two babes behind.
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The one a fine and pretty boy,
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Not passing five years old;
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And the other a girl, more young than he
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And fram'd in beauty's mould.
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The father left his little son,
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As plainly doth appear,
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When he to perfect age should come,
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Three hundred pounds a year.
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And to his little daughter Jane,
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Six hundred pounds in gold,
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To be paid on the marriage day,
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which might not be controul'd.
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But if these children chanc'd to die,
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Ere they to age should come,
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Their uncle should possess their wealth:
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For so the will did run.
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Now, brother, said the dying man,
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Look to my children dear;
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Be kind unto my boy and girl,
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No friend else have they here.
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To God and you I recommend
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My children dear this day.
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But little time we have, 'tis sure,
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within this world to stay.
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You must be father and mother both,
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And uncle all in one:
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God knows what will become of them,
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when we are dead and gone.
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And thus bespoke the mother dear,
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Oh! brother kind, quoth she,
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You are the man must bring our babes
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To wealth or misery.
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And if you keep them carefully,
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Then God will you reward;
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But if you otherwise should deal,
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God will your deeds regard.
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With lips as cold as any stone,
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They kiss'd their children small:
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God bless you both, our children dear.
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Then down the tears did fall.
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These speeches then the brother spake,
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To this sick couple there:
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The keeping of your children dear,
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Dear sister, do not fear.
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God never prosper me nor mine,
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Nor ought else that I have,
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If I do wrong your children dear,
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When you are laid in grave.
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The parents being dead and gone,
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The children home he takes,
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And brings them strait unto his house,
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where much of them he makes,
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He had not kept these pretty babes
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A twelvemonth and a day,
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But for their wealth he did devise
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To take their lives away.
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He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,
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who were of furious mood,
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That they should take these children,
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And slay them in a wood.
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Then told his wife, and all he had,
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He did the children send,
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For to be brought up in fair London,
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By one that was their friend.
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Away then went these pretty babes,
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Rejoicing at that tide,
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Rejoicing with a merry mood,
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They should on horseback ride.
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They prate and prattle pleasantly,
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As they rode on the way,
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To those that should their butchers be,
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And work their lives decay.
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So that the pretty speech they made,
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Made murderers hearts relent,
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And they who undertook the deed,
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Full sorely did repent.
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Yet one of them, most hard of heart,
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Did vow to do his charge,
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Because the wretch that hired him
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Had paid him very large.
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The other won't hereto agree;
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So here they fell to strife,
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And then together they did fight
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About the children's life.
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And he that was of mildest mood
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Did slay the other there,
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Within an unfrequented wood,
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while babes did quake for fear.
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He took the children by the hand,
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while tears stood in their eyes,
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And bid them straitway follow him,
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And see they did not cry.
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And two long miles he led them then,
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while they for bread complain.
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Stay here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread,
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when I come back again.
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These pretty babes went hand-in-hand,
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And wander'd up and down;
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But never more did see the man,
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Approaching from the town.
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Their pretty lips with blackberries
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were all besmear'd and dy'd;
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And when they saw the darksome night,
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they sat them down and cry'd.
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Thus wander'd these two babes,
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Till death did end their grief,
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In one another's arms they dy'd,
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As babes wanting relief.
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No burial these two pretty babes
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Of any man receives,
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Till Robin-red-breasts painfully
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Did cover them with leaves.
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And now the heavy wrath of God
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Upon their children fell:
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Yea, frightful fiends did haunt his house,
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His conscience felt an hell.
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His barns were fir'd, his house consum'd,
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His lands were barren made;
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His cattle dy'd within the field,
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And nothing with him stay'd.
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And in a voyage to Portugal,
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Two of his sons did die:
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And, to conclude, himself was brought
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To want and misery.
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He pawn'd and mortgaged his land,
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Ere seven years were out.
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So now, at length, this wiched deed
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By this means was found out.
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The fellow that did take in hand
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The children for to kill,
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Was for a murder judg'd to die,
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As was God's blessed will.
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He did confess the very truth,
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The which is here express'd.
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Their uncle dy'd, where he for debt
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Did long in prison rest.
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You that executors be made,
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And overseers eke,
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Of children that be fatherless,
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And infants mild and meek;
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Take you example by this thing,
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And yield to each his right,
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Lest God for such-like cruelty
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Your wicked minds requite.
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