A Rare Example of a Vertuous Maid in
Paris, who was by her own Mother procured to be put in Prison, think
ing thereby to compel her to Popery: but she continued to the end, an[d]
finished her life in the fire. Tune is, O man in Desparation.
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IT was a Ladies Daughter
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of Paris properly,
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Her mother her commanded
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to Mass that she should hie:
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O pardon me, dear mother,
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her daughter dear did say,
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Unto that filthy Idol
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I never can obey.
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With weeping and wailing,
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her mother then did go,
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To assemble her Kinsfolks,
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that they the truth may know,
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Who being then assembled,
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they did this maiden call,
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And put her into prison,
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to fear her there withal.
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But where they thought to fear her,
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she did most strong endure,
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Altho her years was tender,
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her faith was firm and sure,
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She weighd not their allurements,
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she feard not firey flame,
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She hopd thro Christ her Saviour,
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to have immortal fame.
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Before the judge they brought her,
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thinking that she would turn,
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And there she was condemned,
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in fire for to burn,
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instead of Golden bracelets,
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with Cords they bound her fast,
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My God grant me with patience
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(quoth she) to die at last.
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And on the morrow after,
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which was her d[y]ing day,
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They stript this silly Damsel
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out of her rich array,
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Her Chain of Gold so costly,
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away from her they take,
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And she again most joyfully
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did all the world forsake.
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Unto the place of torment
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they brought her speedily,
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With heart and mind most constant,
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she willing was to die,
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But seeing many Ladies
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assembled in that place,
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These words she then pronounced,
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lamenting of their case.
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You Ladies of this City,
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mark well my words (quoth she)
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Although I shall be burned,
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yet do not pitty me,
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Your selves I rather pitty,
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and weep for your decay,
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Amend your time fair Ladies,
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and do no time delay.
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Then came her mother weeping,
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her daughter to behold,
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And in her hand she brought her
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a book covered with gold:
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Throw hence, quoth she, that idol,
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convey it from my sight,
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And bring me hither my bible
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wherein I take delight.
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But my distressed mother,
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why weep you? be content,
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You have to death delivered me,
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most like an innocent,
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Tormentor do thy Office
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on me when thou thinkst best,
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but God my Heavenly Father
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will bring my soul to rest.
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but Oh my aged Father,
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where-ever thou dost lye,
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Thou knowst not thy poor daughter
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is ready for to die;
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but yet amongst the Angels,
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in Heaven I hope to dwell,
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Therefore my loving Father,
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I bid thee now farewel.
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Farewel likewise my mother,
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adieu my Friends also,
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God grant that you by others
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may never feel such woe,
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Forsake your Superstition,
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the cause of mortal strife,
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Embrace Gods true Religion,
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for which I lose my life.
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When all these words were ended,
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then came the man of death,
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Who kindled soon a fire,
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which stopt this Virgins breath:
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To Christ her only Saviour,
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she did her Soul commend,
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Farewel (quoth she) good people,
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and thus she made an end.
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