The Trial of Patience;  
Being a Relation of a Widow in Yorkshire, who having Buried her Husband, and left Seven small Children, was reduced to great Poverty, and turned out of House and Home; then going to her Husband's Brother, being a Rich Man, in hopes of finding Relief, but instead thereof, he threatened them with Cruelty. With an Account of a Lady's Love at the greatest time of her Distress.  
Tune of, In Summer time.  

This may be Printed,  
R. P.   
 

A Loving Couple in Yorkshire,  
they having seven Children small,  
When Poverty was so severe,  
they had for them no Food at all.   

As I the naked truth may speak,  
their Father was in grief and woe,  
Three years he lay both sick and weak,  
this was enough to bring them low.   

They sold their cattle, Corn, and Hay,  
with other Goods they parted free,  
Till all they had was made away,  
in this their sad Extremity.   

After the term of three long years,  
which he thus languishing did die,  
Upon his Bed with brinish Tears.  
he said farewel, here now I die.   

A cruel Landlord the next day,  
turned her and Children out of door,  
Where in a Field all night they lay,  
this grieved the Widows heart full sore,   

Poor Soul, she was in sad distress,  
full seven Children at her feet,  
With hunger, cold, and comfortless,  
and not one bit of Bread to eat.   

 
 
●t would have broke a heart of Stone,  
to hear the piteous moan they made.   

With weeping tears she did reply,  
my heart is overwhelmed with Grief,  
To your Rich Uncle we will hie,  
and see if he will yield Relief.   

He told your Father thus in love,  
before this world he bid adieu,  
That he in tenderness would prove  
a Brother and a Father too.   

With cheerfulness they did repair  
unto their Uncle's House that night,  
And they no sooner was come there;  
but all their hopes was blasted quite.   

As soon as he did them behold,  
he said to her, what make you here,  
Be gone or else the Whipping-post,  
shall surely happen to your share.   

He threatened her with this abuse,  
likewise with greater Villainy,  
He vowed his Dog he would let loose,  
if that she did his patience try.   

In wrath he spurned them from his door,  
saying, they should not there abide,  
Her Children they were frighted sore,  
she likewise wrung her hands and cried,   

O here we will not tarry long,  
although we are in deep Distress,  
Dear Brother, pray now do not wrung  
the Widow and the Fatherless.   

Tears from their eyes in showers did flow,  
for there they see they might not stay,  
Their hearts were filled with grief and woe,  
as from his House they took their way.   

The Mother was with grief oppressed,  
the Children in a● woeful plight▪  
We have no home nor place of rest  
where shall we for our ●ea●s this night?   

 
 
Good Lord raise me some friend I 〈◊〉  
to help us in this time of need.   

Her Prayers was heard to Heaven high,  
for she no sooner this had said,  
But a young Lady Riding by,  
did hear the piteous moan she made.   

And called her to her Coach with speed,  
giving her ten good Guinnies there▪  
In order for her present need,  
and bid her to her House repair.   

A Farm of Twenty pound a year,  
I do declare I have in store,  
And I will give thee Title clear,  
to you and yours for evermore.   

The Lady bid her cease to mourn,  
for ever happy may you be,  
Ten thousand thanks she did return,  
for this her Generosity.   

No Tongue is able to express  
how joy and comforts did increase,  
For now the Farm they do possess,  
and live in plenty, joy, and peace.   

This Brother of malicious spite,  
who would not pity her poor case,  
All that he had was blasted quite,  
within a very little space.   

God's wrath and vengeance here we see,  
was just for his sad cruel Pride,  
He was reduced to Poverty,  
likewise upon a Dunghill Died.   

For having then no Home nor Friend,  
that would this cruel wretch receive▪  
He made a miserable end.  
When he alas! this Life did leave.   

Rich Men relieve the Poor I pray,  
who does to you for succour cry,  
Lest you be b●ought as low as they▪  
by making God your Enemy.    

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball in Pie Corner.