That after their bewildering,

Cover'd with leaves the little children,

So painfully in the wood?

What ail'd thee, robin, that thou could'st pursue

A beautiful creature,

That is gentle by nature?

Beneath the summer sky,

From flower to flower let him fly;

'Tis all that he wishes to do.

The cheerer, thou, of our in-door sadness,
He is the friend of our summer gladness:
What hinders, then, that ye should be
Playmates in the sunny weather,

And fly about in the air together?

His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,
A crimson as bright as thine own:
Would'st thou be happy in thy nest,
Oh, pious bird! whom man loves best,
Love him, or leave him alone!

In time

A gentlem

In Norf

Who did

Most m

Sore sick

No he

His wife

And t

No love

Each

In love

And

The o

Not

The o

And

The f

As

Whe

ΤΗ

And

ful story you shall hear, ime brought forth to light. tleman of good account Norfolk dwelt of late,

did in honour far surmount st men of his estate.

ick he was, and like to die,
help his life could save;
ife by him as sick did lie,
I both possess'd one grave.
ve between these two was lost,
ch was to other kind;

e they lived, in love they died,
1 left two babes behind.

■ne, a fine and pretty boy,
± passing three years old;
■ther, a girl more young than he.
framed in beauty's mould,
ather left his little son,

plainly doth appear,

n he to perfect age should come ree hundred pounds a year.

to his little daughter Jane,
we hundred pounds in gold,
e paid down on her marriage-day.
hich might not be controll'd:

f the children chanced to die,
e they to age should come,
r uncle should possess their wealth;
or so the will did run.

'Now, brother,' said the dying man,
6 Look to my children dear;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friends else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children dear this 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;

But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deeds regard.'

The paren

The chi And bring Where He had

A twel

But, for

To m

He barg

Whic

That th

And

He tol

He

To be

Wit

Away

Re

Rejo

ΤΗ

With lips as cold as any stone,

They kiss'd their children small:

'God bless you both, my children dear;' With that their tears did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake

To this sick couple there:

'The keeping of your little ones,

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

A

Το

A

So

An

Y

B

arents being dead and gone,
- children home he takes,

▪rings them straight unto his house,
ere much of them he makes.
■d not kept these pretty babes
welvemonth and a day,

For their wealth, he did devise
make them both away.

argain'd with two ruffians strong nich were of furious mood,

they should take these children young d slay them in a wood.

old his wife an artful tale:
would the children send
e brought up in fair London,
_th one that was his friend.

then went those pretty babes, joicing at that tide,

icing with a merry mind,

ey should on cock-horse ride. prate and prattle pleasantly, they rode on the way,

nose that should their butchers be, nd work their lives' decay.

at the pretty speech they had, ade murder's heart relent: they that undertook the deed, ll sore did now repent. one of them, more hard of heart, id vow to do his charge, ause the wretch that hired him,

ad paid him very large.

Ere s

'Stay here,' quoth he, ‘I'll bring you bread,

When I come back again.'

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,

And no

Did

The fel

Approaching from the town:

But never more could see the man

Went wandering up and down;

The

Was fo

Suc

Their pretty lips with blackberries

Who

Were all besmear'd and dyed,