The Cruel Mother

there was a lady who lived in york she proved a child by her own fathers clock she leaned her back against a thorn and there she had her baby born she pulled out her weeping knife and she took that sweet babes life she wiped the blade all on the grass but the harder she wiped the blood ran fast she washed her hands all in the stream thinking to turn a maid again as she was walking down her fathers hall she saw three babies a playing at the ball one dressed in silk the other in satin the other as naked as ever was born all little babies if you were mine I'd dress you in silk and satin so fine oh mother dear I once was dying you neither dress me in clothes so fine the coldest clay it was my bed the green grass was my coverlet all my fine babes what will become of me you'll be seven long years a bud in a tree seven long years the tongue of a bell seven long years a porter in hell