# Two babes in the wood, or, The Norfolk gentleman's last will and testament/Two babes in the wood, or, The Norfolk gentleman's last will and testament

The TWO BABES in the WOOD.
NOW ponder well you parents dear, the words that I ſhall write, A woeful ſtory you ſhall hear, in time brought forth of late.
A gentleman of good account, in Norfolk dwelt of late, Whole means and riches did ſurmount moſt men of his eſtate.
Sore ſick he was, and like to die, no help then could he have, His wife with him as ſick did ly, and both poſſeſs'd one grave.
No love betwist theſe two were loſt, each was to other kind, In love they liv'd, in love they dy'd, and left two Babes behind.
The one a fine and pretty boy, not palling three years old; The 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 doth come, three hundred pounds a year.
​And to his little daughter Jean, two hundred pounds of gold, To be paid down on marriage day, which might not be controul'd;
But if his children chanc'd to die, ere they to age ſhould come, Their uncle ſhould receive their wealth, and thus the will did run.
Now brother, ſaid the dying man, look to my children dear, Be good unto my boy and girl, no friend elſe have I here.
To God and you I do commend, my children night and day; A little while we have. 'tis ſure, 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 then ſpoke the Mother dear, my Brother kind, quoth ſhe, Thou art the man muſt bring my Babes, to wealth or miſery
If you do 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.
Thele ſpeeches that the brother ſpake, to the ſick couple there, The keeping of your children dear, ſweet 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, their children home he takes And brings them home into his houſe, and much of them he makes.
He had not kept theſe pretty babes, a twelvemonth and a day, But 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 theſe children both, and ſlay them in a wood.
Then told his wife, and all he had, he did the children ſend, To be brought up in fair London, with one that was friend.
​Away then went theſe pretty Babes, rejoicing at that tide Rejoicing with a merry mind, they ſhould on horſe-back ride.
They prate and prattle pleaſantly, as they rode on the way To thoſe that ſhould their butchers be, and work their life's decay.
So that the pleaſant talk they had, made the murderer's heart relent, And they who took the deed to do, 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 there they fell at ſtrife, With one another they did fight, about the children's life;
And he that was of mildeſt mood, did flay the other there, Within an unfrequented wood, where Babes did quake for fear.
Me took the children by the hand, while 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 thus, while they for bread complain: Stay here, quoth be, I'll bring you bread, when I do come again.
The pretty Babies with hand in hand, went wand'ring up and down, But never more they ſaw the man ⟨approaching⟩ from the town.
Their pretty lips with black berries, were all beſmear'd and dy'd, And when they ſaw the darkſome night, they ſat them down and cry'd.
Thus wand'red theſe two pretty Babes, till grief did end their life. In one another's arms they dy'd, like babes wanting relief
No burial theſe two pretty Babes of any man receives Till Robin Red-Breast painfully did cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrath of God, upon the Uncle tell, A fearful fiend did haunt his houſe, his conſcience felt as hell.
His barns were fir'd, his goods conſum'd, his lands were barren made; His cattle dy'd within the houſe, and nothing with him ſtaid.
​And in a voyage to Portugal, two of his ſons did die: And to conclude, himſelf was brought unto great miſery.
He pawn'd and mortgag'd all his land, e'er ſeven years came about, And now at length this wicked act, by theſe means did come out.
The fellow that did take in hand, theſe children for to kill, Was for a robb'ry judg'd to die, as was God's bleſſed will:
Who did confeſs the very truth, the which is here expreſt, Their Uncle died while he for debt, did long in priſon reſt.
All you that be executors made, and overſeers eke. Of children that be fatherleſs, and infants mild and meek:
Take all example by this fight, and yield to each his right, ⟨Let⟩ God with ſuch like miſeries, your wicked deeds requite.