klausnick/莫罗佐夫·尼科莱/профан (klausnick) wrote,
klausnick/莫罗佐夫·尼科莱/профан
klausnick

The Suffolk miracle


The Suffolk miracle
To the tune of, My bleeding heart, &c.

A Wonder stranger n’er was known
Than what I now shall treat upon,
In Suffolk there did lately dwell,
A Farmer rich, and known full well.

He had a Daughter fair and bright,
On whom he placed his whole Delight;
Her beauty was beyond compare,
She was both Virtuous and Fair.

There was a young Man living by,
Who was so charmed with her Eye,
That he could never be at rest,
He was by Love so much possesst:

He made Address to her, and she,
Did grant him Love immediately;
But when her Father came to hear,
He parted her, and her poor Dear:

Forty Miles distant was she sent,
Unto his Brother's, with Intent
That she mould there so long remain.
Till she had changed her Mind again.

Hereat this Young Man sadly grieved,
But knew not how to be reliev'd;
He sigh'd and sob'd continually,
That his true Love he could not see.

She by no Means could to him send,
Who was her Heart's espoused Friend ;
He sigh'd, he griev'd, but all in vain,
For she confin'd mull still remain.

He mourn'd so much, that Doctor's Art
Could give no Ease unto his Heart,
Who was so strangely terrified,
That in short time for Love he dy’d.

She that from him was sent away,
Knew nothing of his Dying-day,
But constant still she did remain,
And loved the Dead, altho' in vain.

After he had in Grave been laid
A Month or more, unto this Maid
He came in middle of the Night,
Who joy’d to see her Heart's Delight

Her Father's Horse, which well she knew,
Her Mother's Hood and Safe-Guard too,
He brought with him, to testify,
Her Parents Order he came by.

Which when her Uncle understood.
He hop'd it would be for her good,
And gave Consent to her straitway,
That with him she should come away.

When she was got her Love behind.
They pass'd as swift as any Wind,
That in two Hours, or little more.
He brought her to her Father's Door.

But as they did this great Haste make,
He did complain his Head did ake ;
Her Handkerchief she then took out,
And ty'd the same his Head about:

And unto him she thus did say,
Thou art as cold as any Clay;
When we come Home a Fire well have ;
But little dream'd he went to Grave.

Soon were they at her Father's Door,
And after she n'er saw him more ;
I'll set the Horse up, then he said.
And there he left this harmless Maid.

She knock'd, and strait a Man he cry'd,
Who's there ? Tis I, she then reply'd ;
Who wonder'd much her Voice to hear,
And was possess'd with Dread and Fear.


Her Father he did tell, and then
He star’d like an affrighted Man;
Down Stairs he ran, and when he see her,
Cry'd out, My Child, how cam'st thou here ?


Pray Sir, did you not send for me.
By such a Messenger, said she;
Which made his Hair stare on his Head,
As knowing well that he was dead :


Where is he ? then to her he said,
He's in the Stable, quoth the Maid.
Go in, said he, and go to Bed,
I’ll fee the Horse well littered.


He star'd about, and there could he
No Shape of any Mankind see,
But found his Horse all on a Sweat,
Which made him in a deadly Fret.


His Daughter he said nothing to,
Nor none else, tho' full well they knew,
that he was dead a Month before,
For fear of grieving her full sore.


Her Father to the Father went
Of the Deceas'd, with full Intent
To tell him what his Daughter said,
So both came back unto this Maid.


They ask'd her, and she still did say,
ʼTwos he that then brought her away;
Which when they heard, they were amaz'd,
And on each other strangely gaz'd.


A Handkerchief she said she ty'd
About his Head ; and that they try'd,
The Sexton they did speak unto,
That he the Grave would then undo :


Affrighted, then they did behold
His Body turning into Mould,
And though he had a Month been dead,
This Handkerchief was about his Head.


This thing unto her then they told,
And the whole Truth they did unfold ;
She was thereat so terrified
And grieved, that she quickly died.


Part not true Love, you rich Men then,
But if they be right honest Men

Your Daughters love, give them their way,
For Force oft breeds their Lives decay.
Tags: английский язык, баллада
Subscribe

Recent Posts from This Journal

  • (no subject)

    Как милы молоденькие девушки! Откуда берутся стервы среднерусского возраста? UPD В связи с анонимным каментом вспомнился случай, имевший место в…

  • опубликовал три года назад

    Полесские хроники Сначала разберёмся с действующими лицами. Просто доктором будем именовать вновь прибывшего на Полесье выпускника.…

  • бык и телка

    Bull, ox. Bullock, a heifer. Berks .

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 0 comments