If parents do the thing that is not right,
Setting their hearts, their love, and whole delight
Upon one child, and eke the other wrong,
Trust in the Lord, whose arm and hand is strong
In his due time he will these things redress;
He never leaves his servant comfortless,
As by this time relation you may find,
If you his works of providence will mind.
In Dorsetshire a wealthy man of late,
Two sons he had; likewise a vast estate·
The one he loved with affection pure,
The other one he never could endure;
But kept him meaner than their meanest slave.
And often wish'd him in the silent grave,
As they at each time then at variance fell,
But for what reason none alive can tell.
A more obedient son was seldom seen,
Modest in carriage, of a genteel mien,
Yet nevertheless his father did him slight,
And never could endure him in his sight;
Or if he did, he'd frown upon him still,
No peace, no joy, no love, or kind good will
Could he receive from his father's hand,
Who strove to cut him off from all his lands.
Many a stroke and heavy blow he felt,
Which often caus'd his youthful eye to melt
Into a flood of sad, lamenting tears;
Thus he with patience suffer'd many years.
The darling son was clothed in rich array,
And often did his gaudy plumes display,
Making his father's gold and silver fly
Like summer's dust in jovial company.
While he was thus supported in his pride,
The other son was scorned and villify'd,
And by his father often spurn'd and beat,
Who seemed then to grudge the bread he eat.
Father, said he, what is the cause of this?
If I have acted anything amiss,
Tell me my fault, and I will surely mend,
At this his father's wrath increased more,
And with these words he thrust him out of doors.
Go take your lot beyond the ocean main,
And never let me see your face again.
The son he little said, but did depart
From friends and father with a heavy heart,
Encompass'd round with sorrow, grief, and care,
To seek his fortune, but he knew not where.
Poor heart, when this unhappy chance did fall,
He nothing had then to subsist at all;
Yet carefully he travelled all the day,
And then at night upon cold earth he lay.
Next morning, sleeping on the rural plain,
He was awaken'd by a shepherd swain,
Who came that way, and having heard his grief.
Out of his scrip he gave him some relief.
This done, in humble part he took his leave,
With many thanks for what he did receive,
And so went on to famous London town,
Where for a time he wander'd up and down.
And wanting friends, on board he went at last,
Over the roaring ocean wide he past;
Where we will leave him to God's providence,
And shew the other brother's insolence.
When parents doat upon a certain child,
He often proves reverse, stubborn, and wild,
And brings them to the greatest sorrow here,
As from this late account it will appear.
One of his sons thus gone beyond the seas,
The other with [his] parents lived at ease,
Until by fruits of sinful wantonness
His family was brought to great distress,
As
you shall hear; for many pounds he spent
Among the taverns which he did frequent;
Where, for a harlot's sake, a man he kill'd,
And therefore was in chains and fetters held
At Dorchester, in order to be try'd.
His father hearing of the news reply'd,
He shall not die, and go down to the grave,
If all that e'er I have his life can save.
To one in town he mortag'd all his land,
Raising five hundred pounds then out of hand,
To keep his darling son from dismal thrall;
And yet, dear loving friends, this is not all.
For he once more did violate the laws,
And was transported for that very cause,
From Dorchester, over the raging main,
Never to see his native land again.
His aged father did in tears lament,
His land was mortgag'd, and [his] money spent Upon their wicked child, which grieved them sore; Besides he ow'd two hundred pounds or more,
For which he could no satisfaction make,
Wherefore to jail they did his body take.
In tears he wept, beseeching for relief;
His chief companion that he had was grief.
His downy beds were turn'd to bed of straw;
No comfortable friend alive he saw;
For want of food he daily did repine,
And tears of woe did serve instead of wine.
With wringing hands he said, What have I done?
How have I wrong'd my well beloved son!
My son that was endowed with Christian grace.
To succour him that brought me to disgrace.
With these, and many more lamenting cries,
Distilled tears did trickle down his eyes;
Where we will leave him in that sad distress,
To show the slighted son's true happiness.
Now, having treated of his grief and woe,
As he from time to time did undergo,
I come to shew you how God's blessed hand
Restor❜d him from a prison to his land.
Behold that son, so scorn'd and slighted here,
In his distress kind Providence did steer
From London city to the Golden shore,
Where God for him a blessing had in store.
In process of time, behold he found
A wealthy fortune, worth ten thousand pound,
A virtuous wife, both beautiful and fair,
And had some thoughts to live and settle there.
But each night he was so disturb'd in mind,
No ease or satisfaction could he find;
But still he dream'd most of his friends were dead,
And that his aged father begg'd his bread.
Being disturb'd with his nocturnal thought,
His loving wife, with all his wealth, he brought
Over the ocean to fair Weymouth town,
Appearing like some persons of renown.
Then to his father's house he did repair;
And finding nothing else but strangers there,
Concern'd he was, as was his lady gay,
Supposing that his former dreams were true.
When meeting with an ancient gentleman,
He said, Kind Sir, do tell me if you can,
What is become of such a gentleman.
Fetching a heaving sigh, he did reply,
His darling son, whom he did so adore,
Has brought his aged father to be poor
By his unparalleled villanies,
And now for debt in Dorset jail he lies.
At this sad news his eyes did overflow,
And said, My loving lady, let us go,
And see my aged father in distress;
Alas! I cannot leave him comfortless.
Then coming to the prison, he beheld
His aged father dear, with sorrow fill'd,
Cloathed in rags, lean, thin, and hollow eyes,
Having no food his hunger to suffice.
The young man's bowels yearn'd, his heart did bleed. Said he, Old father, tell me now with speed,
How long have you been clos'd confined here
Right worthy sir, the aged man reply'd,
Your kind request shall soon be satisfy'd.
So he began, and told him of all his grief,
And how his son had been the cause in chief.
Had you no other son, said he, I pray.
Yes, sir, I had; but him I sent away:
One that was loving, courteous, and kind,
No father could enjoy a sweeter child.
But in my sorrow here I must confess,
I loved him that brought me to distress;
The other I would not one smile allow,
And so the hand of God is on me now.
And is the mother of your son alive?
No, no, [kind] sir; she did not long survive,
After the sad disaster of the first;
With utmost grief her tender heart did burst;
For having sought her son both far and near,
And [when she] could of him no tidings hear,
Home she return'd, with tears took to her bed,
And never after would be comforted.
The young man's heart was full, he could not speak,
Therefore he did a private corner take,
To weep his fill and ease his soul of care;
Which done, in jail he did a feast prepare,
And call'd his aged father to the same,
Who cring'd and bow'd before him as he came.
The young man said, Sure this may not be done;
Be cover'd, father, for I am your son—
That very son whom you [so] forc'd away.
Your lands I will redeem, your debts I'll pay,
And prove a blessing to your ancient days:
Dry up your tears, your fainting spirits raise.
Art thou my son, whom I so long withstood?
Art thou alive to do thy father good?
Blessed be God! this news doth cheer my heart,
Thy duty is much more than my desert.
O say not so, my aged father dear;
Who serve the Lord with religious fear
Must honour parents dear, for conscience' sake,
Or sure I am a great command they break.
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