The dutiful Daughter of HALIFAX.
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IN Halifax-town there lived one,
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Whose name I will not yet make known;
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great tallow-chandler by his trade,
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Besides a rich man, as 'tis said.
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He had one child, a young daughter,
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But she, poor child, had no mother
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Living, to take her part, and she
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Was hated by her father, he,
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Who in short time marry'd again
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Another wife, who did disdain
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This young creature, as we hear;
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And proved unto her severe.
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At length seeing their cruelty
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The poor young creature she did cry,
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Alas! my mother dear said she,
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Is dead and gone, that loved me,
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Was she but living now, I'm sure,
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This sorrow I need not endure,
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As I do now with bleeding heart;
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I know that she'd have took my part.
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Then hearing of the moan she made,
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The cruel wretch, her father, said,
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Daughter, you shall to London go.
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Which will be for your good, I know.
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I have a friend that liveth there,
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Who of you will will take great care.
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So both she and her father they
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Did towards London ride away.
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But when they came to London, there
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This cruel wretch made it his care,
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Which was as we do understand,
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To send this child to Newfoundland.
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And in short time her father he
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With a sea captain did agree
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For to take this child quite o'er,
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Theraging seas where billows roar.
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Then homewards he return'd again,
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we will leave him to remain,
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Like a sad cruel wretch, awhile,
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And shew what became of the child.
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AS this ship in the river lay,
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Waiting when the wind would obey.
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For time to sail, it happen'd so,
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The captain's wife on board did go.
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And as they merry-making were,
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She saw this damsel standing there;
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Who in her sight wept bitterly,
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Bemoaning her sad destiny.
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Alas! I am but twelve years old,
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And my father hath me sold.
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Altho' he hath no child but me,
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Yet I am sold a slave to be.
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Alas! a mother I have none,
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Who is alive to hear my moan,
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Which now I make, alas! she cry'd
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Oh! that I'd with my mother dy'd.
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Then hearing of the moan she made,
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The captain's wife unto him said,
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Husband, we have no child, said she,
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Pray give this poor child unto me.
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pity she should go a slave.
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Nay, then, my love, you shall her have.
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Then home she did this poor child take,
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And of her there she much did make.
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This sad voyage the captain, he
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And all the crew sunk in the sea;
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And in a matter of three year
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This captain's wife dy'd, as we hear.
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But just before her death, 'tis said,
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As she lay dying on her bed,
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Two hundred pounds she did her give,
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To help her whilst that she did live.
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And in short time after she
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Did go into the country;
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And there she did to service go,
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And living with a farmer, who
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In short time fix'd his love on she;
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And he at rest could never be;
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But as she found it was for love,
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His grief she then did soon remove.
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And then to ease him of his care,
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She and her master marry'd were.
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And he her person did adore,
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For he was one had wealth in store.
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Now since Heaven did decree
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Such fortune for this creature she,
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I'll leave her for awhile, and shall
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Shew what to her father did befal.
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ONE morning before it was day,
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In a house where his tallow lay
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A dreadful fire happen'd there,
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By which her father ruin'd were.
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At last he sleeping on his bed,
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The fire seiz'd on him, 'tis said.
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He lost the use of his right-leg,
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And at last was forc'd to beg.
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Long time he begged at the door,
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For succour thro' many a town;
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And on a time it happen'd so,
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He to his daughter's house did go.
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And as he begged at the door,
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Crying, I pray, relieve the poor.
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And hearing of this man, then she
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Went to the door immediately.
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Then he with hat in hand did crave,
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Crying, I pray, madam, let me have,
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A lodging in your barn this night
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I hope the Lord will you requite.
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Said she to him, How came you lame?
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From whence came you? also your name?
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With that to her he did impart,
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Those things at last that pierc'd her heart.
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Said she, I in that town did dwell,
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And knew your daughter very well.
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What is become of her, said she?
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She has been dead some time, said he.
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Tho' she is dead yet for her sake,
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Into my house I will you take,
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You in a bed shall lie, said she,
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So in they went immediately
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Then down she sat him at the board,
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And the best the house could afford,
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Both drink and diet there was set
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Before him, saying, Pray now eat.
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When having supp'd to-bed he went,
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But he this night was innocent
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How this woman that nourish'd he.
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Had suffer'd by his cruelty.
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In bed, to him she did clare a,
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Who this man was. Why then said he
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If so he shall remain with me.
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SO next day in the morning grey,
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This man arose to go his way,
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Returning great thanks unto she
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For the great kindness shewn to he.
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As he was going, with a smile
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She said, Do not be troubled,
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I have something to let you know
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Before that you from hence do go.
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She said, Do not be troubled
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You told me your daughter was dead
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But I who talk to you am she,
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Your child you sold for slavery.
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Wha she and her as Bu ta: are you?
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Yes I'm a retgy't hd sb your child u
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Nevertheless I'll you adore,
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And you about shall beg no more.
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Then with sad blushing cheeks he cry'd
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I am not able to abide
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Under the roof where such as thee,
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My child, do live, that nourish me.
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When I was almost starv'd to death.
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And like a vagabond here on earth
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Who had no settled home, but I
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Was forc'd sometimes in barns to lie.
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Seeing his tears she said, Don't grieve,
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I'll succour thee whilst I do live,
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I hope God will it me restore,
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To help my father, who is poor.
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Altho' thy cruel stony heart
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Has caused mine to bleed and smart,
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Yet I do freely you forgive,
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And your wants will now relieve.
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For in so doing I am sure,
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Will not diminish my great store,
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But rather cause it to encrease
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And hope will win me heaven's bliss.
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The fifth commandment I do know
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Which doth command children to show
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Duty to parents; therefore I
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Will honour you until I die.
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You sons and daughters far and near
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That do this famous ditty hear,
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Tho' your parents do you slight,
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Yet honour them both day and night
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And if your fortune may prove so,
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That you grow high, and they grow low
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And be in want, do you th[e]n feed,
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God will reward you for that deed.
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