The BRISTOL GARLAND. In FOUR PARTS.
PART I.
A Merchant's son of worthy fame
From the town of Bristol came,
Unto a sweet and pleasant green,
Where little girls are to be seen.
Who usher'd in the month of May,
With flow'ry garlands fresh and gay,
With musiic for to entertain
The youthful charming rural plain.
Amongst these youthful ladies bright,
None did exceed for red and white,
Lucy, a shepherd's daugter fair,
She like an angel did appear.
The merchant's son, who never knew,
Before that time what love could do,
Began to feel an inward flame,
So with these words to her he came:
Thou charming beauty of the day,
Who far exceeds the month of May,
And all the beauties of the plain,
Do not my humble suit disdain.
See answer'd with a modest voice,
Sir, You're mistaken in your choice.
Don't set your heart or love on me,
Who am one of a mean degree.
But a poor shepherd's daughter, fir.
With that he strait saluted her.
He did these words to her express,
My dear, I love you ne'ertheless.
How many men of worthy fame,
In former days that I could name,
Who made it their employ to keep
Their mighty flocks of lambs and sheep.
Then let us to thy father go,
And if he is willing to bestow
His daughter on me I'll rejoice,
And be well pleased at the choice.
Accordingly she gave consent,
And to her father straitway he went.
Here he then treated long of love,
And that he would right constant prove.
The shepherd made him this reply,
Your suit I cannot well deny,
But let me tell you, worthy sir,
I nothing have to give with her.
But if you love for love's desert,
Then take her with all my heart.
All parties then were soon agreed,
So that they married were with speed.
PART II.
NOW the wedding-rites being done,
Behold the welthy merchant's son
To his dear parents brought his bride,
Who were it seems dissatisfied.
Because they u
[...]derstood that she
Descended from a mean degree.
And was not worthy to be made
His bride, so they did her degrade.
Then to their son in wrath they spoke,
Saying, How dare'd you thus provoke
Your loving friends and parents dear?
Oh! it will break our hearts we fear.
He to his parents thus did say,
Hear me a word or two I pray.
She is my bride, my joy, and dear.
Oh! do not break her heart with grief.
Dear friends, I cannot bear to hear,
My wife, my love, my joy, and dear,
Revil'd at such a rate as this,
Alas! she has not done amiss.
His parents said, Since it is so,
Pray take your jewel now and go
Out of our doors, our hands we'll clear,
You shall not think to harbour here,
Begone, I say, depart the house,
I'll give you not one single souse,
Or any thing alive or dead,
Altho' you starve for want of bread.
Said he, 'Tis very hard indeed
That in the greatest time of need,
You'll not relieve nor help your son,
So now farewel, your will be done.
Returning back with weeping eyes,
With bitter sobs and mourning cries,
I'm grieved at the heart, said she,
That I was born to ruin thee.
Let not such thoughts disturb thy mind,
Nor sigh nor sobs for thou shalt find
I'll get my bread with pains and care,
And my crosses with patience bear.
Be thou content, and all is well,
We'll with thy loving parents dwell.
And in regard we have no land,
I'll freely lean with my own hand.
I'll freely go to plow and cart,
I'll freely learn with all my heart,
As thy poor father he has done.
Farewel the name of merchant's son.
He did not only say, but behold,
In summer hot, and winter cold,
He'd reap and mow and till the earth,
As if he came to it by his birth.
PART III.
BUT here's a wonder now at last,
When eignt Yerrs were gone and past,
He did to mighty riches rise,
And how it came none could devise.
But thus it was we understand:
He bought a little piece of land,
On which there was some stumps of trees,
The which he dug up by degrees.
Upon a day by chance he found,
When digging deep within the ground,
A lusty pot with ancient gold,
As full as ever it could hold.
Tho' he was lusty, stout, and strong,
He scarce could lug the same along.
For there were many a thousand pound,
Which he by mighty fortune found.
He purchas'd then a vast estate,
And in those p
[...] appeared great,
As any knight
[...] worthy fame,
None knew as yet from whence it came.
While he grew rich, his parents they
Reduced were to sad decay,
By losses which they did sustain,
By land as well as ocean main.
He ow'd a thousand pounds and more,
The cruel creditors therefore,
On all that e'er he had then seiz'd,
Yet ne'ertheless they were not plea'd,
But would have had his b
[...]dy too,
So that for fear, alas! he flew.
And forced was to hide his head,
Whie he and she both wanted bread.
PART IV.
NOW while they were in this distress,
And nothing had wherewith to bless
Themselves withal, glad tidings came
Of their son's estate, and wealthy fame,
The woman to her husband cry'd,
Let's to our son, he will provide
A place for us, we need not fear.
Why should we lie and languish here.
If he should do so good a deed,
Now in our want and time of need,
'Tis more than we might well expect,
Remember how we did reflect,
On him and his beloved wife.
And said in wrath, that during life
By me they never shall be fed,
Altho' they starv'd for want of bread.
This was my fault, this was my sin,
How can I think he'll take us in,
Who did him throw quite out of door,
And bid him see my face no more.
But, loving husband, you shall find
He's of a courteous heart and mind,
And shall receive us both in love,
Just as she said so it did prove,
For coming to his mansion-place,
The son he thought it no disgrace
To fall upon his bended knee,
So did his wife as well as he.
As from their knees they did arise,
His parents dear with weeping eyes,
Their grie
[...]s and
[...]orrows did relate,
Who had been most unfortunate.
Said he, Most welcome, parents dear,
Un
[...]o my habitation here.
Let not these tears of sorrow fall,
I have enough to serve us all.
Father, your debts I'll freely pay,
The world shall never have to say,
That e'er they lost a groat thro' you,
Now bid your sorrows quite adieu.
Then did he feast and cloath them both,
And said, My parents, pray henceforth,
In plenty live, and take some ease.
At home with me, or where you please.
If here you are not free to live,
One hundred pounds a year I'll give,
If that won't serve you shall have two,
God gave it me thus to serve you.
Thus was he dutiful and kind,
Now sons and daughters bear in mind
How tender he was to his friends,
And thus my mournful ditty ends.
Printed and Sold at the Printing-Office in Bow-Church-Yard, London.