A warning for all lewd livers, By the example of a disobedient Child, who riotously wasted and consumed his Fathers and Mother's goods, and also his own, among strumpets, and other lewd-livers, and after died most miserably on a dunghill.  
To the tune of Sir Andrew Barton.  
 
 

MY bleeding heart with grief and care,  
doth with all young men to beware,  
That they no such like steps may tread,  
nor lead the life that I have led.   

My Father was a Gentleman,  
as many gallants witness can,  
He had no son but only I,  
which made his gold and silver fly.   

When as my Father hath me sent,  
to sell his goods or take up rend,  
I did consume and waste the same  
in drinking and unlawful game.   

The Cards and Dice were my delight,  
I haunted taverns day and night,  
Lewd women were my chiefest joys,  
and my consorts were cutpurse boys.   

God's holy word I disobeyed,  
I cared not what the Preacher said,  
For quaffing cans of Ale and Beer,  
was all the service I would hear,   

Thus acting my ungracious part,  
I broke my aged Father's heart,  
When ghastly death did on him cease,  
I thought myself in happy case.   

What he had left I thought well got,  
but now the shame falls to my lot,  
Five hundred pound in good red gold,  
for Wine and Beer I quickly sold.   

Then was I pressed to serve the King,  
that might my name to honour bring,  
A Soldier's life I held it base,  
and always took it in disgrace.   

And having thus consumed my store,  
I to my Mother went for more;  
Who fouled and mortgaged all her land,  
and put the money in my hand.   

And with these words with tears she said  
thou knowest my Son thy father's dead  
No more is left but I and thee,  
therefore dear Son be good to me.   

If that thy love from me should fall,  
I have on earth no friend at all,  
Therefore good Son, to me prove kind,  
and thou in Heaven reward shalt find.   

Then on my bended knees fell I,  
desiring of the Lord on high,  
A shameful death might be his end,  
that would his Mother once offend.   

All you that do no reckoning make,  
of swearing when your words you speak,  
Give ear to this which will you tell,  
lewd livers seldom died well.   

You disobedient children all,  
draw near and listen to my fall,  
Example take, repent in time,  
lest that your woes be like to mine.   

You Fathers dear and Mother's kind,  
bear you this lesson well in mind,  
Trust not too much a wicked child  
for oftentimes men are beguiled.   

When twigs are green you may them ply  
but let them grow till they be dry,  
They will so stiff and stubborn stand,  
you cannot bend them with your hand.   

So I that can a wicked race,  
to mend my life had not the grace,  
sixteen score pound in ready gold,  
into my hand my Mother told.   

But in the compass of one year,  
I spent it all as may appear,  
And having left no means at all,  
I unto robbing strait did fall.   
 
 

THen did I steal my Mother's rings,  
her brass, her pewter, & such things,  
The very bed whereon she lay,  
I like a villain sold away.   

What ever I could get or take,  
I thereof strait would money make,  
My flinty heart did feel no grief,  
to see my Mother want relief.   

At last she grew exceeding poor,  
and begged her bread from door to door,  
No Infidel nor Pagan vild,  
could bring to light so bad a child.   

At last my Mother lost her breath,  
as she constrained was by death,  
Who yields relief when friends grow scant  
and easeth those that are in want.   

From place to place I then was tossed,  
by every man and woman crossed,  
No harbour could I get, whereby  
I might at night in safeguard lie.   

My dearest kinsfolks do me chide,  
my nearest friends mock and deride,  
Those that were my comfort of late,  
their love is changed into hate.   

Those that have feasted many a time,  
and fed upon that which was mine,  
Despise at me along the street,  
as if they should a Serpent meet.   

Both old and young both great and small,  
both rich and poor, despise me all,  
No friend to take my part had I,  
but was constrained in fields to lie.   

In this my extreme misery,  
my grief and my necessity,  
No creature gave for my relief,  
one piece of bread to ease my grief.   

But as a poor despised wretch,  
his latest gasp that he did fetch,  
Was on a dounghill in the night,  
when as no creature was in sight.   

But in the morning he was found,  
as cold as clay upon the ground:  
Thus was he borne in shame to die,  
and end his days in misery.   

Take warning young men by this vice,  
learn to avoid the Cards and Dice:  
Lewd women's company forbear,  
they are the high way unto care.   

All Parents while your babes be young,  
look to their ways in hand and tongue,  
Then wickedness will not abound,  
but grace in children may be found.   
FINIS.   

Printed at London for Thomas Lambert, and are to be sold in Smithfield, at the Hospital gate.  
L.P.