With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist the children small:
"God bless you both, my children deare:"
With that the teares did fall.
These speeches then their brother spake
To this sicke couple there:
"The keeping of your little ones,
Sweet sister, do not feare:
"God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave."
Their Parents being Dead & Gone, The Children home he takes.
The parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And bringes them straite unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
