The Kentish MIRACLE;  
OR, A Strange and Miraculous Work of God's Providence shown to a poor distressed Widow, and her Seven small Fatherless Children. Who lived by a  sixpenny Loaf of Bread, and a little Water, for above Seven Weeks, in the Wild of Kent, to the Praise and Glory of Almighty God.  
To the Tune of, A Rich Merchantman.  
Entered according to Order.  
 

TAke comfort Christians all,  
for never shall you see  
The faithful forsaken quite,  
and left in misery.   

Who lives and loves to hear  
the Truth in each degree,  
The s●ory of a Widow's plaint  
let him give ear to me   

Who by this Widow here,  
sufficient have been tried,  
The which was left both poor and bare,  
when as her Husband died.   

And seven young Children small,  
upon her hands likewise,  
And knew not how to buy them bread,  
their hunger to suffice,   

She labours night and day,  
she spins and takes great pain,  
And many a thing to buy them bread  
God knows she lays in pawn.   

But when the appointed time,  
as time consumeth all,  
O then she knew not how to keep  
her hungry Children small.   

MOst merciful God, said sh●,  
cast down a tender eye,  
And suffer not thy servant here,  
with a famishing death to die.   

Thou that the Ravens didst send,  
Elias for to feed:  
When that he was in Wilderness,  
in extreme want and need,   

And Reigned Bread from Heaven,  
Old Israel to preserve:  
And wouldst not in the lion's den  
let Daniel pine and starve.   

I know my Lord, she said,  
thou didst five thousand feed:  
With five small Barley Loaves,  
as we in Scripture read.   

And each one had enough,  
their hunger to sustain;  
And afterwards twelve baskets full  
of scraps did still remain.   

I know my Lord, she said,  
thou art so mighty still:  
And therefore every thing be done  
according to thy will.   

Her Prayers ended thus,  
her Children cried strait way;  
O Mother dear give us some bread,  
we have eat none to day.   

Give me some bread, said one,  
give me some bread, said another:  
And thus the silly Infant's flock,  
about their careful Mother.   

The good Soul hearing this,  
persuades them to be still,  
O soon at night my lambs said she,  
you shall have bread your fill.   

I will to Market go,  
let Corn be cheap or dear,  
I'll sell my Coat to buy some corn,  
if you'll be quiet here.   

The Children smiled at this,  
content they did remain,  
Good Mother every one could say,  
come quickly home again.   

Three Miles this woman went,  
unto the Market Town,  
And for five shillings she did sell,  
her Coat and Russet Gown.   

Who being glad in heart,  
to Market strait she hies:  
But there alas her purse was cut,  
 any Corn she buys.   

She Cryeth out, God knows,  
she weeps & makes great moan,  
To every one that passeth by,  
her grief she makes it known.   

But yet behold and see,  
here in her woeful case:  
Her husband's brother he was one  
that sold Corn in that place.   

This woeful woman then,  
did him desire and pray,  
To trust her with one sack of corn,  
till the next Market day.   

But he denies her Flat,  
and thus he tells her plain,  
I shall not have to serve my turn,  
till Corn do come again.   

More heed you might have took,  
unto your purse said he,  
And not to lose your money here,  
so fond and foolishly.   

This dogged answer cut  
this poor soul to the heart,  
Especially when she did think,  
upon her infant's smart.   

Who sits and strives at home,  
poor souls, but all in vain;  
Which of them should the biggest piece,  
of bread and butter gain.   

But far alas they were,  
from butter, bread, or cheese,  
Or any thing to comfort them  
that their poor Mother sees.   

But now behold Gods work,  
as homeward she returned,  
A Baker's Boy gave her a Loaf,  
which was in Baking burned.   

She gave God thanks for that,  
and joyful in her hand,  
She bears the bread home to her, babes,  
which waiting for her stand.   

She kisses them each one,  
and with a cheerful look▪  
And said we will to supper go,  
when you have said your Book.   

Mean time she makes a Fire,  
and apples therein throws,  
The Widow, and her seven Children  
to supper sweetly goes,   

The Apples roasted well,  
and she doth cut them bread,  
On every piece most lovingly,  
she doth the Apple spread.   

Instead of Drink, she had,  
a Cup of water clear,  
And every Child rejoiced much,  
and said here is good cheer.   

Behold when they had supped,  
for God their food did bless,  
When they had supped & were sufficed  
their Loaf was never the less.   

For seven week's space together,  
as story's plainly spread,  
The widow and her seven children  
by this one Loaf was fed.   

The Cut purse Man I say,  
he broke his neck in Kent,  
 he of this poor widow's money  
on single-penny had spent.   

And yet behold and see,  
her husband's churlish brother,  
That would not trust a peck of corn  
her Children for to secure.   

And straightway after this,  
his Corn was washed away,  
All by a mighty flood that came,  
before the break of day.   

The Gentlemen, and such,  
that did this wonder see,  
Unto this widow gave such gifts,  
that ne'er more wanted she.   

And now good people all,  
you here may plainly see,  
God servants are not forsaken qui●●  
God's mercies is to them free.   
FINIS.   

Printed for J. Deacon, at the Angel in Guilt-Spur-street without Newgat●.