Soon after he had played this trick, It was his lot for to fall sick; As on his bed he did lament, Then for his drunken son he sent. He shortly came to his bedside; Seeing his son, he thus replied: ‘I have sent for you to make my will, Which you must faithfully fulfil. ‘In such a cottage is one door, Ne’er open it, do thou be sure, Until thou art so poor, that all Do then despise you, great and small. ‘For, to my grief, I do perceive, When I am dead, this life you live Will soon melt all thou hast away; Do not forget these words, I pray. ‘When thou hast made thy friends thy foes, Pawned all thy lands, and sold thy clothes; Break ope the door, and there depend To find something thy griefs to end.’ This being spoke, the son did say, ‘Your dying words I will obey.’ Soon after this his father dear Did die, and buried was, we hear. PART II. Now, pray observe the second part, And you shall hear his sottish heart; He did the tavern so frequent, Till he three hundred pounds had spent. This being done, we understand He pawned the deeds of all his land Unto a tavern-keeper, who, When poor, did him no favour show. For, to fulfil his father’s will, He did command this cottage still: At length great sorrow was his share, Quite moneyless, with garments bare. Being not able for to work, He in the tavern there did lurk; From box to box, among rich men, Who oftentimes reviled him then. To see him sneak so up and down, The vintner on him he did frown; And one night kicked him out of door, Charging him to come there no more. He in a stall did lie all night, In this most sad and wretched plight; Then thought it was high time to see His father’s promised legacy. Next morning, then, oppressed with woe, This young man got an iron crow; And, as in tears he did lament, Unto this little cottage went. When he the door had open got, This poor, distressèd, drunken sot, Who did for store of money hope, He saw a gibbet and a rope. Under this rope was placed a stool, Which made him look just like a fool; Crying, ‘Alas! what shall I do? Destruction now appears in view! ‘As my father foresaw this thing, What sottishness to me would bring; As moneyless, and free of grace, His legacy I will embrace.’ So then, oppressed with discontent, Upon the stool he sighing went; And then, his precious life to check, Did place the rope about his neck. 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.’