A Worthy Example of a Vertuous Wife, who Fed her
Father with her own Milk, being Condemned to be starved to Death, and was afterwards
pardoned by the Emperor. Tune is, Flying Fame.
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IN Rome I read a Noble Man,
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the Emperor did offend,
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And for that fault he was adjudg'd
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unto a cruel end:
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That he should be in Prison cast,
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with Irons many a one,
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And there be famish'd unto death,
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and brought to skin and bone.
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And more, if any one were known,
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by night or yet by day,
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To bring him any kind of Food,
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his hunger to allay:
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The Emperor swore a mighty Oath,
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without remorse, quoth he,
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They should sustain the cruel'st death
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that could devised be.
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This cruel Sentence once pronounc'd,
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the Noble-man was cast
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Into a Dungeon dark and deep,
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with Irons Fetter'd fast:
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Where when he had with hunger great,
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remained ten days space,
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And tasted neither Meat nor drink,
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in a most woful case.
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The tears along his aged face,
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most piteous did fall,
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And grievously he did begin,
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for to complain withal:
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O Lord, quoth he, what shall I do;
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so hungry Lord am I;
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For want of bread, one bit of bread,.
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I perish, starve and dye.
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How precious is one grain of wheat,
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unto my hungry Soul,
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One crust or crumb, or little piece,
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my hunger to controul:
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Had I this Dungeon heapt with Gold,
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I would forgo it all,
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To buy and purchase one brown loaf,
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yea were it ne'r so small.
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O that I had but every day,
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one bit of bread to eat,
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Though ne'r so mouldy, black or brown,
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my comfort would be great:
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Yea, albeit I took it up,
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trod down in dirt and mire,
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It would be pleasing to my taste,
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and sweet to my desire.
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Good Lord how happy is the Hind,
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that labours all the day,
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The drudging Mule, the peasant poor,
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that at command do stay:
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They have their ordinary meals,
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they take no heed at all,
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Of those sweet crumbs & crusts that they
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do carelesly let fall.
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How happy is that little Chick,
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that without fear may go
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and pick up those most precious crumbs
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which they away do throw:
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O that some pritty little Mouse,
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so much my friend would be,
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To bring some old forsaken Crust
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into this place to me.
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BUt O my heart, it is in vain,
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no succour can I have,
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No meat no[r] drink, nor water eke,
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my loathed life to save:
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O bring some bread for Christ his sake,
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some Bread, some Bread for me.
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I dye, I dye, for want of food,
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none but stone walls I see:
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Thus day and night he cryed out,
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in most outragious sort,
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That all the people far and near,
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were griev'd at his report:
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And though that many friends he had,
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and Daughters in the Town,
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Yet none durst come to succour him,
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fearing the Emperors frown.
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Yet now behold one Daughter dear,
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he had as I do find,
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Who liv'd in his displeasure great,
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for matching against his mind:
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Although she liv'd in mean Estate,
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she was a vertuous W[i]fe,
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And for to help her Father dear,
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she ventur'd thus her life.
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She quickly to her Sisters went,
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and of them did intreat,
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That by some secret means they would
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convey their Father meat;
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Our Father dear doth starve, she said,
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the Emperors wrath is such,
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He dies alas, for want of food,
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whereof we have too much.
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Sweet sisters therefore use some means
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his life for to preserve,
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And suffer not your Father dear,
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in Prison for to starve;
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Alas, quoth they, what shall we do,
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his hunger to sustain,
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You know 'tis death for any one,
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that would his life maintain.
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And though we wish him well, quod they,
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we never will agree,
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To spoil our selves, we had as lief,
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that he should dye as we:
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And Sister if you love your self,
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let this attempt alone,
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Though you do ne'r so secret work,
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at length it will be known.
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O hath our Father brought us up,
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and nourisht us, quoth she,
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And shall we now forsake him quite,
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in his extreamity?
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No, I will venture life and limb,
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to do my Father good,
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The worst that is I can but dye,
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to fit a Tyrants mood.
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With that in haste away she hies,
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and to the Prison goes,
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But with her woful Father dear,
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she might not speak God knows:
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Except the Emperor would grant
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her favour in that case,
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The Keeper would admit no wight,
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to enter in that place.
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Then she unto the Emperor hies,
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and falling on her knee,
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With wringing hands and bitter tears,
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these words pronounced she:
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My hopeless Father, gracious Lord,
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offending of your Grace,
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Is judg'd unto a pining death,
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within a woful place.
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Which I confess he hath deserv'd,
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yet mighty Prince (quoth she)
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Vouchsafe in gracious sort to grant
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one simple book to me:
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It chanced so I match'd my self
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against my Fathers mind,
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Whereby I did procure his wrath,
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as fortune hath assign'd.
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And seeing now the time is come,
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he must resign his breath,
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Vouchsafe that I may speak to him,
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before his hour of death:
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And reconcile my self to him,
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his favour to obtain,
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That when he dyes I may not then,
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under his curse remain.
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The Emperor granted her request,
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conditionally that she
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Each day unto her Father came,
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should throughly searched be:
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No Meat nor drink she with her brought
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to help him there distrest,
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But every day she nourisht him,
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with Milk from her own Breast.
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Thus by her Milk he was preserv'd,
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a twelvemonth and a day,
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And was as fair and fat to see,
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yet no man knew which way:
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The Emperor musing much thereat,
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at length did understand,
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How he was fed, and not his Law
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was broke at any hand.
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And much admired at the same,
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and her great vertue shown,
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He pardon'd him, and honour'd her,
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[!]with great preferments known:
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Her Father ever after that,
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did love her as his Life,
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And b[l]est the day that she was made
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a loving Wedded Wife.
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