And now the heavy wrathe of God

Upon their uncle fell;

Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell;

His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,
His landes were barren made,

His cattle dyed within the field,

And nothing with him stayd.

And in the voyage of Portugal
Two of his sonnes did dye;

And to conclude, himselfe was brought
To want and miserye :

He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven yeares came about,

And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out :

The fellowe that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,
Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been display'd:
Their uncle having dyed in gaol,
Where he for debt was layd.

You that executors be made,

And overseers eke

Of children that be fatherless,

And infants mild and meek;

Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.

GG

THE STAG-HUNT.

(Written by Francis Douce.)

HE hunt is up, the hunt is up! Sing merrily we the hunt is up; The birds they sing,

The deer they fling,

Hey, nonny, nony, no!

The hounds they cry,
The hunters fly,

Hey, trolilo, trololilo !

The hunt is up, the hunt is up,

Sing merrily we the hunt is up.

The wood resounds
To hear the sounds,

Hey, nonny, nony, no!

The rocks report

This merry sport,

Hey, trolilo, trololilo !

The hunt is up, the hunt is up,

Sing merrily we the hunt is up.

Then hie apace

Unto the chace,

Hey, nonny, nony, no!

While every thing

Doth sweetly sing,

Hey, trolilo, trololilo !

The hunt is up, the hunt is up, Sing merrily we the hunt is up.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW.

(From Percy's "Reliques of Ancient Poetry.")

ROM Oberon, in fairye land,

The king of ghosts and shadowes there,
Mad Robin I, at his command,

Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.
What revell rout

Is kept about,

In every corner where I go,

I will o'ersee,

And merry bee,

And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!

More swift than lightening can I flye

About this aery welkin soone,

And, in a minute's space descrye

Each thing that's done belowe the moone.

There's not a hag,

Or ghost shall wag,

Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;

But Robin I

Their feates will spy,

And send them home, with ho, ho, ho!

Whene'er such wanderers I meete,

As from their night-sports they trudge home;

With counterfeiting voice I greete

And call them on, with me to roame

Thro' woods, thro' lakes,

Thro' bogs, through brakes;

Or else, unseene, with them I go,

All in the nicke

To play some tricke,

And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho!

Sometimes I meete them like a man;

Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can;

To trip and trot about them round.
But if, to ride,

My backe they stride,

More swift than wind away I go,

Ore hedge and lands,

Thro' pools and ponds

I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!

When lads and lasses merry be,

With possets and with juncates' fine;
Unseene of all the company,

I eat their cakes, and sip their wine;
And, to make sport,

Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wooll;
And while they sleepe, and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.

I grind at mill

Their malt up still;

I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.

If any 'wake,

And would me take,

I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho!.

When house or harth doth sluttish lye,

I pinch the maidens black and blue; The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I, And lay them naked all to view.

1 Dainties.