The Ungrateful Son: 
 OR, An Example of God's Justice upon abuseful Disobedience of a Falsehearted and cruel Son to his Aged Father.  
To the Tune of Kentish Miracle.  

Licenced according to Order.   
 
 

OF an ungrateful Son,  
my purpose is to write,  
By whom a Father was undone,  
and clearly ruined quite:  
The Sequel of this Song  
will make it well appear,  
That those that do their Parents wrong,  
will feel God's Wrath severe.   

An ancient wealthy Man,  
near London lived indeed,  
Who at his Door relieved the Poor,  
and those that stood in need:  
But Troubles coming on,  
we find that every where,  
Religious Men, not One in Ten,  
but persecuted were.   

And eke for Conscience sake,  
in Prison was likewise,  
Informers they made them their Prey,  
Rome's Malice to suffice;  
Both Lands and Goods were seized,  
no Pity they'd afford,  
For at that time 'twas thought a Crime,  
to serve the living Lord.   

This good man seeing then,  
how strange the things did run,  
He did depend, to find a Friend  
of his beloved Son;  
Therefore without delay,  
he called him out of hand,  
And did make o'er his Goods and Store,  
likewise his House and Land.   

Said he, my Son be just,  
secure the same for me;  
I have no Friend that I can trust  
in these Affairs but thee:  
Dear Father, than said he,  
Your Will shall be obeyed,  
And if I wrong you let me see  
a just Example made.   

The old Man him believed,  
and turned o'er his Estate,  
But yet at last, e'er Three years passed  
he did repent at last;  
For after turn of times,  
did Liberty afford.  
The old Man went with full intent,  
to have his Means restored.   

Then coming to the Gate,  
whereas his Son did dwell,  
It was one Evening something late,  
the very Truth to tell;  
The Servant let him in,  
and when he was set down,  
The Son with Anger did begin  
to knit his Brows and frown.   

The Father said, My Son,  
I come in hopes, that you  
Will now return the great Concern,  
which is my proper due:  
Ye Presbyterian Knave,  
said this Son, void of shame,  
I'll part with nothing that I have,  
be gone from whence ye came.   

The old Man than besought  
this Villain to forbear,  
I am your Father which hath brought  
you up with Cost and Care.  
But yet he raved the more,  
and Curses did repeat,  
At length he threw him out of Door,  
and kicked him in the Street.   

His Eyes like Fountains flow,  
run down his Cheeks like Rain,  
His aged Hair as white as Snow,  
no Pity could obtain.  
O cruel wretched Son!  
the Father then replied,  
Consider well what thou hast done,  
God will pull down thy Pride.   

The bitter Winds did blow,  
the Skies was darkened quite,  
And for a Lodging where to go  
he did not know that Night;  
But Heaven did provide  
for him in that distress,  
He with a Farmer did reside,  
who did his Love express.   

But for this wicked Son,  
e'er Morning did appear.  
He quite besides his Wits did run,  
God's Wrath was so severe:  
Then for a Week or more,  
Father, Father, he cried,  
In frantic Fits besides his Wits,  
and then at length he died.   

Thus for his Villainy,  
God sent him to the Grave;  
O let these Lines a warning be,  
to all that Parents have;  
Be dutiful always,  
and do not Parents scorn,  
For those that do, in time may rue,  
they'd better ne'er been born.    

Printed for P. Brooksby, I. Deacon, I. Blare, I. Back.