  PARENTS you that have children, pray Unto these lines attention give; And unto God for mercy crave, To be your guide while you live. For in Yorkshire, I do declare, There is a town call'd Thursk by name, Near to the city of York so fair; Went thence a gentleman of fame. For to enjoy a fair estate Of sixteen hundred pounds a year; And with him went his virtuous wife, Two sons, likewise two daughters fair. When he had full possession took, He was unto the poor most kind, For he to charity, indeed, And serving God, was much inclin'd. Yet 'twas his most unhappy fate, His youngest child to dote upon, And also did his wife, indeed, And that their ruin it begun. This youngest daughter whom we hear, Had many suitors far and near, But none could then obtain her love And yet for truth I shall declare. But then, at last, a grocer's son, A courting to this maiden went, Who, in a short time, for truth we hear, Brought this young maiden to consent; For to be his lawful bride, If that her parents would agree; "Or else, my love, I ne'er must yield, Indeed, my dear, your bride to be." With that he to her parents went, To ask of them their free good will, Which they, poor souls, did soon consent, So now observe what them befel. For when he'd gain'd her friends' consent, He then most treacherous did prove; But pray observe, and all beware You ne'er prove treacherous in love. He to this maiden went, we hear, A visit unto her to pay, But with a false and treacherous heart, He to this maiden fair did say, "I'd have you now forthwith to go, And get your father to agree To settle on me his estate, Or else my bride you ne'er shall be." At this she burst forth into tears, Saying, "Can you so cruel be, For unto that I can't presume." "Then fare thee well," replied he. When he had left her all in woe, She yielded to the devil's will, Who did put her in a way These cruel murders to fulfil. She strait some miles from York did go, And there she bought some poyson strong; So, then, poor wretch, without delay, She home again did soon return. Her father, when she did return, Said, "Child, your tender mother dear, Unto a christ'ning she is gone;" So parents all, take warning here. Her father, for her safe return, A bowl of punch prepared had, And she help'd to make it herself, So mix'd the poyson in with speed. Then strait she feigned herself sick, Saying, "To bed I must now go." This was because she would not drink— To work her own great overthrow. Her father and her brothers dear, They all around the bowl was set, And then began to drink the same, Not thinking poyson was in it. And when the bowl of punch was out, Her mother she returned home, Whose husband said, "My loving wife, Your daughter Ruth is safe return'd." At this her mother did rejoice, Saying, "This news I'm glad to hear." But oh! poor souls, they little thought Their latter end it was so near. For when to bed they all did go; But oh! next morning, as 'tis said, Her father, brothers, and sister dear, Were all found dead within their bed. Next morning the old lady found Her husband dead within the bed, So she call'd for her daughter dear, For to come up to her with speed. But she not coming, she strait went Unto her cruel daughter dear, That had this sad destruction wrought; So, parents all, I pray draw near. She said, "My child, I pray get up, For your dear father he is dead." She seem'd amaz'd, and straitway cry'd, "Oh! then I'm ruined," she cry'd. "Indeed, no friend I have," she said, "But you my tender mother dear;" So then to tell her brothers, they Unto the chamber did repair. Where in their beds they there did lie In death's cold arms as doth appear, For now begins the bloodiest part Of tragedy you e'er did hear. The noise was quickly about spread, That many went the same to see, Amongst which, for a truth, 'tis said, One Clerk, a noted surgeon he. Who said, "They poyson'd be, indeed." With that the daughter did declare, "My mother she hath done this thing As I will quickly make appear. "I saw my mother mix some stuff Into a bowl of punch, indeed; Then, underneath the table she, The paper she did fling, with speed "Then burnt the paper instantly:" Which made the doctor for to say, "Madame, you have some murder done;" So to a justice went straitway. And, altho' she was innocent, She strait to prison was convey'd, Where she, poor soul, in grief, indeed, Until the next assizes laid. And then the morning being come, She at the bar did strait appear, Where then her cruel daughter, she Swore false against her mother dear. Her sentence was for to be burnt; And then she back to prison went, Where the poor soul did weep and mourn, Being overprest with discontent. So the n
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