Crying, ‘Thou, God, who sitt’st on high,
And on my sorrow casts an eye;
Thou knowest that I’ve not done well,—
Preserve my precious soul from hell.
‘’Tis true the slighting of thy grace,
Has brought me to this wretched case;
And as through folly I’m undone,
I’ll now eclipse my morning sun.’
When he with sighs these words had spoke,
Jumped off, and down the gibbet broke;
In falling, as it plain appears,
Dropped down about this young man’s ears,
In shining gold, a thousand pound!
Which made the blood his ears surround:
Though in amaze, he cried, ‘I’m sure
This golden salve the sore will cure!
‘Blessed be my father, then,’ he cried,
‘Who did this part for me so hide;
And while I do alive remain,
I never will get drunk again.’
PART III.
Now, by the third part you will hear,
This young man, as it doth appear,
With care he then secured his chink,
And to the vintner’s went to drink.
When the proud vintner did him see,
He frowned on him immediately,
And said, ‘Begone! or else with speed,
I’ll kick thee out of doors, indeed.’
Smiling, the young man he did say,
‘Thou cruel knave! tell me, I pray,
As I have here consumed my store,
How durst thee kick me out of door?
‘To me thou hast been too severe;
The deeds of eightscore pounds a-year,
I pawned them for three hundred pounds,
That I spent here;—what makes such frowns?’