Excellent old ballad of The babes in the wood

THE

EXCELLENT OLD BALLAD

OF

The Babes in the Wood.

 

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Glasgow—Printed for the Booksellers.

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THE BABES IN THE WOOD.

Now ponder well, you parents dear,
⁠The words which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall hear,
⁠In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account
⁠In Norfolk liv’d of late,
Whose wealth and riches did surmount
⁠Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to die,
⁠No help that he could have,
His wife by him as sick did lie,
⁠And both possess’d one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
⁠Each was to other kind;
In love they liv’d, in love they died,
⁠And left two babes behind.

The one a fine and pretty boy,
⁠Not passing three years old;
Th'other a girl, more young than he,
⁠And made in beauty’s mould.
The father left his little son,
⁠As plainly doth appear,
When he to perfect age should come,
⁠Three hundred pounds a year;

And to his little daughter Jane,
⁠Five hundred pounds in gold,
To be paid down on marriage-day,
⁠Which might not be controul’d;
But if the children chanc’d to die
⁠Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possess their wealth,
⁠For so the will did run.

Now, brother, said the dying man,
⁠Look to my children dear;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
⁠No friends else have I here.
To God and you I do commend
⁠My children night and day;
But little while, be sure, we have
⁠Within this world to stay.

You must be father and mother both,
⁠And uncle, all in one;
God knows what will become of them
⁠When I am dead and gone.
With that bespake their mother dear;
⁠O brother kind, quoth she,
You are the man must bring our babes
⁠To wealth or misery.

And if you keep them carefully,
⁠Then God will you reward;
If otherwise you seem to deal,
⁠God will your deeds regard.
With lips as cold as any stone
⁠She kiss’d her children small;
God bless you both, my children dear
⁠With that the tears did fall.

These speeches then their brother spoke
⁠To this sick couple there:
The keeping of your children dear,
⁠Sweet sister, do not fear;
God never prosper me nor mine,
⁠Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children dear,
⁠When you are laid in grave.

The parents being dead and gone,
⁠The children home be takes,
And brings them home unto his house,
⁠And much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
⁠A twelvemonth and a day,
When for their wealth he did devise
⁠To make them both away.

He bargain’d with two ruffians rude,
⁠Which were of furious mood,
That they should take the children dear,
⁠And slay them in a wood.
He told his wife, and all he had,
⁠He did the children send
To be brought up in fair London,
⁠With one that was his friend.

Away then went these pretty babes,
⁠Rejoicing at that tide,
Rejoicing with a merry mind
⁠They should on cock-horse ride.
They-prate and prattle pleasantly,
⁠As they rode on the way,
To those that should their butchers be.
⁠And work their lives’ decay.

So that the pretty speech they had
⁠Made murd’rers’ hearts relent;
And they that undertook the deed
⁠Full sore they did repent.
Yet one of them, more hard of heart,
⁠Did vow to do his charge,
Because the wretch that hired him
⁠Had paid him very large.

The other would not agree thereto,
⁠So here they fell at strife;
With one another they did fight
⁠About the children's life:
And he that was of mildest mood
⁠Did slay the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
⁠While babes did quake for fear.

He took the children by the hand,
⁠When tears stood in their eye;
And bade them come along with him,
⁠And look they did not cry;
And two long miles he led them on,
⁠While they for food complain;
Stay here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread
⁠When I do come again.

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
⁠Went wandering up and down;
But never more they saw the man
⁠Approaching from the town.
Their pretty lips with blackberries
⁠Were all besmear’d and dy’d;
And when they saw the darksome night
⁠They sat them down and cried.

Thus wander’d these two pretty babes,
⁠Till death did end their grief;
In one another’s arms they died,
⁠As babes wanting relief.
No burial these pretty babes
⁠Of any man receives;
But Robin-red-breast carefully
⁠Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrath of God
⁠Upon their uncle fell;
Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
⁠His conscience felt a hell:
His barns were fir’d, his goods consum'd
⁠His lands were barren made,
His cattle died within the field,
⁠And nothing with him staid.

And, in a voyage to Portugal,
⁠Two of his sons did die;
And to conclude, himself was brought
⁠To extreme misery:
He pawn’d and mortgag'd all his land
⁠Ere seven years came about
And now at length this wicked act
⁠Did by this means come out:

The fellow that did take in hand
⁠These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to die,
⁠As was God's blessed will;
Who did confess the very truth,
⁠The which is here express'd;
Their uncle died, while he, for debts
⁠In prison long did rest.

All you that be executors made,
⁠And overseers eke,
Of children that be fatherless,
⁠And infants mild and meek,
Take you example by this thing,
⁠And yield to each his right;
Lest God to such-like misery,
⁠Your wicked minds requite.

 

finis.