The Devil in Britain and America. Ashton John

      My Husband deare, she said,

      for want of food I die,

      Some succour doe for me provide,

      to ease my misery.

      The man with many a teare,

      most pittiously replyde,

      We have no means to buy us bread;

      with that, the Children cry’d.

      They came about him round,

      upon his coat they hung:

      And pittiously they made their mone,

      their little hands they wrung.

      Be still, my boyes, said he,

      And I’le goe to the Wood,

      And bring some Acornes for to rost,

      and you shall have some food.

      Forth went the Wofull Man,

      a Cord he tooke with him,

      Wherewith to bind the broken wood,

      that he should homewards bring:

      And by the way as he went,

      met Farmers two or three,

      Desiring them for Christ his sake,

      to helpe his misery.

      Oh lend to me (he said)

      one loafe of Barley-bread,

      One pint of milke for my poore wife,

      in Child-bed almost dead:

      Thinke on my extreme need,

      to lend me have no doubt,

      I have no money for to pay,

      but I will worke it out.

      But they in churlish sort,

      did one by one reply,

      We have already lent you more

      than we can well come by.

      This answere strooke his heart

      as cold as any stone;

      Unto the Wood from thence he went,

      with many a grievous groane.

      Where at the length (behold)

      a tall man did him meet

      And cole-black were his garments all

      from head unto his feet.

      Thou wretched man, said he,

      why dost thou weep so sore?

      What is the cause thou mak’st this mone,

      tell me, and sigh no more.

      Alas, good Sir (he said)

      the lacke of some reliefe,

      For my poore wife and children small,

      ’tis cause of all my griefe.

      They lie all like to starve,

      for want of bread (saith he);

      Good Sir, vouchsafe therefore to give

      one peny unto me.

      Hereby this wretched man

      committed wondrous evill,

      He beg’d an almes, and did not know

      he ask’t it of the Devill.

      But straight the hellish Fiend,

      to him reply’d againe,

      An odious sinner art thou then

      that dost such want sustaine.

      Alack (the poore man said)

      this thing for truth I know,

      That Job was just, yet never Man

      endured greater woe.

      The godly oft doe want,

      and need doth pinch them sore,

      Yet God will not forsake them quite,

      but doth their states restore.

      If thou so faithfull bee,

      why goest thou begging then?

      Thou shalt be fed as Daniel was

      within the Lyon’s den.

      If thus thou doe abide,

      the Ravens shall bring thee food,

      As they unto Elias did

      that wandred in the Wood.

      Mocke not a wofull man,

      good Sir, the poore man said,

      Redouble not my sorrows so,

      that are upon me laid.

      But, rather, doe extend

      unto my need, and give

      One peny for to buy some bread,

      my Children poore may live.

      With that he opened straight

      the fairest purse in sight

      That ever mortal eye beheld,

      fild up with crownes full bright.

      Unto the wofull man

      the same he wholly gave,

      Who very earnestly did pray

      that Christ his life might save.

      Well, (quoth the damn’d Spirit)

      goe, ease thy Children’s sorrow,

      And, if thou wantest anything,

      come, meet me here to-morrow.

      Then home the poore man went,

      with cheerfull heart and mind,

      And comforted his woful wife

      with words that were most kind.

      Take Comfort, Wife, he said,

      I have a purse of Gold,

      Now given by a Gentleman,

      most faire for to behold.

      And thinking for to pull

      his purse from bosome out,

      He found nothing but Oken leaves,

      bound in a filthy Clout.

      Which, when he did behold,

      with sorrowe pale and wan,

      In desperate sort to seeke the purse,

      unto the Wood he ran,

      Supposing in his mind,

      that he had lost it there;

      He could not tell then what to think,

      he was ’twixt hope and feare.

      He had no sooner come

      into the shady Grove,

      The Devil met with him againe,

      as he in fancy strove.

      What seek’st thou here? he said,

      the purse (quoth he) you gave,

      Thus Fortune she hath crossed me,

      and then the Devill said

      Where didst thou put the Purse?

      tell