The Lady Isabella's Tragedy;
OR, The Step-Mothers Cruelty.
Being a Relation of a most Lamentable and Cruel Murder, committed
on the body of the Lady Isabella, the only Daughter of a Noble Duke
occasioned by the means of a Step-Mother and the Master-Cook, who
were both adjudged to suffer a Cruel death, for committing the said
Horrid Act. To the Tune of, The Ladies Fall.
|
THere was a Lord of worthy fame
|
and a Hunting he would ride,
|
Attended by a noble Train,
|
of Gentry by his side,
|
And whilst he did in chase remain,
|
to see both sport and play,
|
His Lady went as she did feign,
|
unto the Church to pray.
|
This Lord he had a Daughter fair
|
whose beauty shin'd so bright:
|
She was belov'd both far and near
|
of many a Lord and Knight.
|
Fair Isabella was she call'd,
|
A Creature fair was she,
|
She was her fathers only joy,
|
as you shall after see.
|
But yet her Cruel step-Mother,
|
did envy her so much,
|
That day by day she sought her life
|
her Malice it was such.
|
She bargain'd with the Master-Cook
|
to take her life away,
|
And taking of her Daughters Book
|
she thus to her did say.
|
Go home sweet daughter, I thee pray
|
go hasten presently.
|
And tell unto the Master-Cook
|
these words that I tell thee.
|
And bid him dress to dinner straight,
|
that fair and milk white Doe,
|
That in the Park doth shine so bright,
|
there's none so fair to show.
|
THis Lady fearing of no harm,
|
obey'd her Mothers will,
|
And presently she hasted home
|
her mind for to fulfill.
|
She straight into the Kitchin went,
|
her message for to tell:
|
And there the Master-Cook she spy'd
|
who did with malice swell.
|
You Master-Cook it must be so,
|
do that which I thee tell
|
You needs must dress the milk-white doe,
|
which you do know full well.
|
Then straight his cruel bloody hands,
|
he on the Lady laid,
|
Who quivering and shaking stands,
|
whilst thus to her he said.
|
Thou art the Doe that I must dress,
|
see here behold my Knife,
|
For it is pointed presently,
|
to rid thee of thy life.
|
O then cry'd out the Scullen boy
|
as loud as loud might be,
|
O save her life good Master-Cook,
|
and make your Pies of me.
|
For pitty sake do not destroy,
|
my Lady with your Knife,
|
You know she is her fathers joy,
|
for Christs sake save her life.
|
I will not save her life he said,
|
nor make my Pies of thee,
|
But if thou do this deed bewray
|
thy Butcher I will be,
|
But when this Lord he did come home
|
for to sit down and eat,
|
He called for his Daughter Dear,
|
to come and carve his meat.
|
Now sit you down this Lady said
|
O sit you down to meat,
|
Into some Nunnery she is gone,
|
your Daughter dear forget.
|
Then solemnly he made a vow
|
before the company,
|
That he would neither eat nor drink,
|
until he did her see.
|
O then bespake the Scullen boy,
|
with a loud voice so high,
|
If that you will your Daughter see,
|
my Lord cut up that Pye.
|
Wherein her flesh is minced small;
|
and parched with the fire:
|
All caused by her Step-Mother,
|
who did her death desire.
|
And cursed be the Master-Cook,
|
O cursed may he be,
|
I proffered him my own hearts blood,
|
from death to set her free.
|
Then all in black this Lord did mourn,
|
and for his Daughters sake
|
He judged for her Step-mother,
|
to be burnt at a Stake,
|
Likewise he judg'd the Master-Cook
|
in boyling Lead to stand,
|
and made the simple Scullen Boy,
|
the Heir to all his Land.
|
|
|
|
|
|