But, according to all the records that we possess, his mission no longer was to seduce the saints from their allegiance, and, having become more democratic, he mixed familiarly with the people, under different guises. Of course, his object was to secure the reversion of their souls at their decease, his bait usually being the promise of wealth in this life, or the gratification of some passion. He found many victims, but yet he met with failures--two of which are recorded here. A NEW BALLAD. SHEWING THE GREAT MISERY SUSTAINED BY A POORE MAN IN ESSEX, HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN, WITH OTHER STRANGE THINGS DONE BY THE DEVILL. [Illustration] A poore Essex man that was in great distresse, Most bitterly made his complaint, in griefe and heavinesse: Through scarcity and want, he was oppressed sore, He could not find his children bread, he was so extreme poore. His silly Wife, God wot, being lately brought to bed, With her poore Infants at her brest had neither drinke nor bread. A wofull lying in was this, the Lord doth know, God keep all honest vertuous wives from feeling of such woe. My Husband deare, she said, for want of food I die, Some succour doe for me provide, to ease my misery. The man with many a teare, most pittiously replyde, We have no means to buy us bread; with that, the Children cry’d. They came about him round, upon his coat they hung: And pittiously they made their mone, their little hands they wrung. Be still, my boyes, said he, And I’le goe to the Wood, And bring some Acornes for to rost, and you shall have some food. Forth went the Wofull Man, a Cord he tooke with him, Wherewith to bind the broken wood, that he should homewards bring: And by the way as he went, met Farmers two or three, Desiring them for Christ his sake, to helpe his misery. Oh lend to me (he said) one loafe of Barley-bread, One pint of milke for my poore wife, in Child-bed almost dead: Thinke on my extreme need, to lend me have no doubt, I have no money for to pay, but I will worke it out. But they in churlish sort, did one by one reply, We have already lent you more than we can well come by. This answere strooke his heart as cold as any stone; Unto the Wood from thence he went, with many a grievous groane. Where at the length (behold) a tall man did him meet And cole-black were his garments all from head unto his feet. Thou wretched man, said he, why dost thou weep so sore? What is the cause thou mak’st this mone, tell me, and sigh no more. Alas, good Sir (he said) the lacke of some reliefe, For my poore wife and children small, ’tis cause of all my griefe. They lie all like to starve, for want of bread (saith he); Good Sir, vouchsafe therefore to give one peny unto me.