Distorted with convulsions, she, In dreadful manner gasping lay, Of twelve long hours no moment free, Her bitter groans did her dismay: Then her poor heart being sadly broke, Submitted to the fatal stroke. When things were to this issue brought, Both in one grave were to be laid: But flinty-hearted Hannah thought, By stubborn means for to persuade, Their friends and neighbours from the same, For which she surely was to blame. And being asked the reason why, Such base objections she did make, She answerèd thus scornfully, In words not fit for Billingsgate: ‘She might have taken fairer on— Or else be hanged:’ Oh heart of stone! What hell-born fury had possessed, Thy vile inhuman spirit thus? What swelling rage was in thy breast, That could occasion this disgust, And make thee show such spleen and rage, Which life can’t cure nor death assuage? Sure some of Satan’s minor imps, Ordainèd were to be thy guide; To act the part of sordid pimps, And fill thy heart with haughty pride; But take this caveat once for all, Such devilish pride must have a fall. But when to church the corpse was brought, And both of them met at the gate; What mournful tears by friends were shed, When that alas it was too late,— When they in silent grave were laid, Instead of pleasing marriage-bed. You parents all both far and near, By this sad story warning take; Nor to your children be severe, When they their choice in love do make; Let not the love of cursèd gold, True lovers from their love withhold. THE CRAFTY LOVER; OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED. Tune of _I love thee more and more_. [THIS excellent old ballad is transcribed from a copy printed in Aldermary church-yard. It still continues to be published in the old broadside form.] OF a rich counsellor I write, Who had one only daughter, Who was of youthful beauty bright; Now mark what follows after. {111} Her uncle left her, I declare, A sumptuous large possession; Her father he was to take care Of her at his discretion. She had ten thousand pounds a-year, And gold and silver ready, And courted was by many a peer, Yet none could gain this lady. At length a squire’s youngest son In private came a-wooing, And when he had her favour won, He feared his utter ruin. The youthful lady straightway cried, ‘I must confess I love thee, Though lords and knights I have denied, Yet none I prize above thee: Thou art a jewel in my eye, But here,’ said she, ‘the care is,— I fear you will be doomed to die For stealing of an heiress.’