JF Ptak Science Books Quick Post
In my collecting of antique children's art (that is, art produced by children from 1880 and earlier) I've stumbled across a number of interesting other associated, relateable, things. One such item is this manuscript copy--from 1827--of a much older children's warning/lesson poem, called "The Lamentable Story of Wicked Polly", a scare-the-kids-to-death kind of poem, instilling (and installing) a very healthy dosage of the wrath of god, a falling away from the just Jesus, and the regretably-late realization on the everlasting pain of sin. A rosey children's lullaby it is not.
[The lyrics are below; click on the images for a more legible resolution.]
But the side interest here is literally at the side, a perhaps revealing bit of marginalia in which the copyist has recorded the names of 54 children (I imagine). Are these names the names of classmates, other children in school, kids in town? There are 26 girls and 28 boys; the girls, as it turns out, have 9 different names; the 28 boys have 18 different names. I wonder why? The girls have the following names (and with the number of holders): Ann (7), Ekiza (4), Mary (4), Hannah (3), Sarah (3), Mary (3), Jane (2) and then one each for Lydia, Sidney and Maria.
The boys have more imaginative names: most popular are William (4) and John (4); this is followed by Joseph (3), James (2), and Abraham (2). The rest of the names are single-uses, and include: Achilles, Joshua, George, Absolom, Enos, Thomas, Pinkney, Charles, Edward, Zachoria, Isaac, Dening and Reason. This is a small and unexpected sample, but it is interesting nonetheless--I don't even have an explanation, just this observation.
The Lamentable Death of Wicked Polly
Young people who delight in sin.
I'll tell you what has lately been:
A woman who was young and fair,
Who died in sin and sad despair.
She'd go to frolics, dance and play,
In spite of all her friends could say;
I'll turn to God when I get old,
And He will then receive my soul.
One Friday morning she took sick,
Her stubborn heart began to break;
Alas! alas! my days are spent,
Too late! too late for to repent.
She called her mother to her bed-
Her eyes were rolling in her head-
When I am dead remember well,
Your wicked Polly screams in Hell.
The tears are lost you shed for me,
My soul is lost, I plainly see;
Oh! Mother, Mother, fare you well-
My soul will soon be dragged to Hell.
My earthly father, fare you well,
My soul is lost and doomed to Hell;
The flaming wrath begins to roll,
I am a lost and ruined soul.
She gnawed her tongue before she died,
She rolled and groaned and screamed and cried,
Oh, must I burn forever more,
When thousand, thousand years are o'er?
At last the monster Death prevailed,
Her nails turned blue, her language failed;
She closed her eyes and left the world,
Poor Polly down in Hell was hurled.
It almost broke her mother's heart
To see her child to Hell depart;
My Polly, O my Polly's dead,
Her soul is gone, her spirit's fled.
Alas - how did her parents mourn
To think their child was dead and gone.
Oh! is my Polly gone to Hell,
My grief's so great no tongue can tell.
Young people, lest this be your case,
Return to God and seek His face.
Upon your knees for mercy cry,
Lest you in sin like Polly die.
Oh! sinners, take the warning fair
And for your dying bed prepare,
Return to Jesus Christ and live,
And He will life and pardon give.
Remember well your dying day,
And seek salvation while you may;
Forsake your sin and follies, too,
Or they will prove your overthrow.
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