Be good unto my boy and girl,

No friendes else have they here: To God and you I recommend

My children deare this daye; But little while be sure we have Within this world to staye.

You must be father and mother both,
And uncle all in one:

God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone.'

With that bespake their mother deare,
"O brother kinde,' quoth shee,

You are the man must bring our babes

To wealth or miserie:

And if you keep them carefully,

Then God will you

reward;

But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deedes regard.'
With lippes as cold as any stone,

They kist their children small:

'God bless you both, my children deare;' With that the teares did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake

To this sicke couple there,
"The keeping of your little ones
Sweet sister, do not feare:
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave.'

The parents being dead and gone,

The children home he takes,

And bringes them straite unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.

He had not kept these pretty babes

A twelvemonth and a daye,

But, for their wealth, he did devise

To make them both awaye.

He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,

That they should take these children young,

And slaye them in a wood.

He told his wife an artful tale,

He would the children send

To be brought up in faire Londòn,
With one that was his friend.

Away then went those pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,

Rejoycing with a merry minde,

They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the waye,

To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives decaye:

So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made Murder's heart relent;
And they that undertooke the deed,
Full sore did now repent.

Yet one of them more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him,
Had paid him very large.

So here they fall to strife; With one another they did fight,

About the childrens life :

And he that was of mildest mood,
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
The babes did quake for feare!

He took the children by the hand,
Teares standing in their eye,

And bade them straitwaye follow him,
And look they did not crye:

And two long miles he ledd them on,
While they for food complaine:

'Staye here,' quoth he, 'I'll bring you bread,
When I come backe againe.'

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,

Went wandering up and downe;

But never more could see the man

Approaching from the town:

Their prettye lippes with black-berries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,

And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed.

Thus wandered these poor innocents,
Till deathe did end their grief,
In one anothers armes they dyed,
As wanting due relief;

No burial [this] pretty [pair]

Of any man receives,

Ver. 125, these . . babes, P.P.

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Till Robin-red-breast piously

Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell;

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Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,

His conscience felt an hell:

His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,
His landes were barren made,

His cattle dyed within the field,

And nothing with him stayd.

And in a voyage to Portugal

Two of his sonnes did dye;

And to conclude, himselfe was brought
To want and miserye:

He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven yeares came about.

And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:

The fellowe, that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,

Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,

As here hath been display'd: Their uncle having dyed in gaol, Where he for debt was layd.

You that executors be made,

And overseers eke

Of children that be fatherless,

And infants mild and meek;

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Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.

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XIX.

A LOVER OF LATE.

Printed, with a few slight corrections, from the Editor's folio MS.
A Lover of late was I,

For Cupid would have it soe,
The boy that hath never an eye,
As every man doth know:

I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas!
For her that laught, and called me ass.

Then knew not I what to doe,

When I saw itt was in vaine

A lady soe coy to wooe,

Who gave me the asse soe plaine:

Yet would I her asse freelye bee,

Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee.

An' I were as faire as shee,

Or shee were as kind as I,

What payre cold have made, as wee,
Soe prettye a sympathye:

I was as kind as shee was faire,
But for all this wee cold not paire.

Paire with her that will for mee,
With her I will never paire;
Ver. 13, faine, MS.

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