The Babes in the Wood (1800)/The babes in the wood

The Babes in the Woods.

NOW ponder well ye parents dear,
the words that I ſhall write,
A doleful ſtory you ſhall hear,
⁠was lately brought to light.
A gentleman of good report,
⁠in Norfolk liv'd of late,
Whoſe wealth and honour did ſurmount,
⁠moſt men of his eſtate.
Sore ſick he was and like to die.
⁠and he no help could have.
His worthy wife by him lay ſick,
⁠they both poſſeeſ,'d one grave,
Betwixt them two no love was loſt,
⁠each was to other kind,
In love they liv'd, in love they died,
⁠and left two babes behind,
The one he was a pretty boy,
⁠not paſſing three year old,
The other a girl, younger than he,
⁠and made in beauty's mould.
The father left his little ſon,
⁠as it doth well appear,
When he to perfect aye ſhould come,
⁠three hundred pounds a year,
And to his little daughter Jean,
⁠two hundred pounds in gold,
To be told down on marriage day,
⁠no way to be control'd.
And if the children chanc'd to die,
⁠'ere they to age ſhould come,
The uncle ſhould poſſeſs their wealth,
⁠and ſo the will did run,
Now brother, ſaid the dying man,
⁠look to my children dear,
Be kind unto my boy and girl,
⁠no friends I elſe have here.
To God and you I recommend,
⁠my children night and day,
For little ſpace before we have,
⁠within this world to ſtay.
You muſt be father and mother too,
⁠and uncle all in one,
God knows what will become of them,
⁠when I am dead and gone.
O then beſpake the mother dear,
⁠my brother kind quoth ſhe,
You are the man muſt bring my babes,
⁠to wealth or miſery,
If you do keep them carefully,
⁠then God will you reward,
If otherwiſe you ſtrive to do,
⁠God will your deeds regard,
With lips as cold as any ſtone.
⁠ſhe kiſs'd theſe children ſmall.
God bleſs you both my children dear,
⁠and ſo the tears did fall.
Thoſe ſpeeches that the uncle made,
⁠to that ſick couple there,
The keeping of your children ſmall,
⁠dear ſiſter do not fear,
God never proſper me nor mine,
⁠nor ought elſe that I have,
If I do wrong your children dear,
⁠when you are laid in grave.
Their parents being dead and gone,
⁠the children he did take
With him into his dwelling houſe,
⁠and much of them did make.
He had not kept theſe children ſmall,
⁠a twelvemonth and a day,
But for their money he devis'd,
⁠to make them both away.
He bargain'd with two ruffians,
⁠who were of furious mood,
For to take the children ſmall,
⁠and kill them in a wood.
He told his wife and children all,
⁠he would the children ſend,
To be brought up in fair London,
⁠with one that was a friend.

PART II.

THESE pretty babes away they went,
⁠rejoicing at the tide,
And ſinging with a merry mood,
⁠that they were going to ride,
They ſpake and prattled pleaſantly,
⁠as they rode on the way,
To them that ſhould their butchers be
⁠and work their live's decay.
The ſpeech that these ſweet babes made,
⁠caus'd their murd'rer hearts relent,
That they hae ta'en the deed in hand,
⁠full ſore they did repeat.
But one of them was hard of heart,
⁠and vow'd to do his charge.
Becauſe the wretch that hir'd them both,
⁠had paid them very large.
So then into the foreſt thick,
⁠theſe two men fell at ſtrife,
With one another they did fight,
⁠about the children's life.
And he that was of mildeſt mood,
⁠did kill the other there,
Within the unfrequented wood.
⁠the babes did quack for fear.
He took the children by the hand,
⁠and led them by the way,
Hold your tongue my children dear,
⁠be ſure you do not cry.
Two miles he led them forth till they,
⁠for bread did ſore complain.
Stay here, quoth be, I'll bring you bread,
⁠when I come back again.
Then hand in hand theſe pretty babes,
⁠went wandering up and down,
But they could never ſee the man,
⁠approaching from the town.
Their pretty lips with blackberries,
⁠were altogether dy'd,
And when the darkſome night care on
⁠they both ſat down and cry'd.
Thus wandered theſe pretty babes,
⁠till death did end their grief
In one another's arms they dy'd,
⁠as babes wanting relief
No burial theſe children did
⁠of any man receive,
Till robin red-breaſt carefully
⁠did cover them o'er with leaves.
And now the heavy wrath of God,
⁠upon the uncle fell,
For fearful fiends did haunt his houſe,
⁠his conſcience burnt in hell.
His barns were burnt, his goods conſum'd
⁠his lands were barren made,
His cattle all died in the field,
⁠and nothing with him ſtaid;
And in a voyage to Portugal,
⁠two of his ſons did die,
Then to conclude, himſelf was brought
⁠into much miſery.
He pawn'd and mortgaged his goods,
⁠'ere ſeven years came about,
And at the very time, then did
⁠this cruel act come out.
The fellow that did take in hand,
⁠the children ſweet to kill,
For robbery was condemn'd to die,
⁠as was God's bleſſed will
He did confeſs the very truth,
⁠the which is here expreſt,
The uncle died, when he for debt,
⁠in priſon long did laſt.
All you who be executors,
⁠and overſeers eke,
Of children that be fatherleſs,
⁠and infants mild and meek,
See that you keep them carefully,
⁠both by night and day,
For God that dwells in heaven ſo high,
⁠he will your deeds repay.