A worthy example of a vertuous wife, who fed her father with her own milk,
being condemned to be famished to death: and after was pardoned by the Emperor.
To the tune of 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 fact he was adjudg'd
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unto a cruell 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 famisht unto death,
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and brought to skin and bone.
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And more, if anyone were knowne,
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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 Emperour swore a mighty oath,
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without remorse (quoth he)
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Thou shalt sustaine the cruellest death
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that may 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 darke and deepe,
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with irons fettered fast:
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Where when he had with hunger great,
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remained ten daies space,
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And neither tasted bread nor drink,
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in this most wofull case.
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The teares along his aged face,
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most plentiously did fall,
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And grievously he did begin
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for to complaine withall:
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O Lord, quoth he, what shall I doe,
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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 famish starve and die.
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How precious were one corne of wheat,
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unto my hungry soule,
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One crust, one crum, one little peece,
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my hunger to controle:
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Had I this dungeon heap'd with Gold,
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I would forgoe it all,
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To buy and purchase one browne loafe,
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yea were it nere so small.
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O that I had but every day,
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one bit of bread to eate,
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Though nere so mouldy black or browne
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my comfort would be great:
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Yea albeit I tooke it up,
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trod downe 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 Hinde,
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that labours all the day,
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The drudging slave, the peasant poore,
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which at commandement stay:
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These have their ordinary meales,
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they take no heed at all
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Of those sweet crums and crusts, that they
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so carelesly let fall.
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How happy is the little chick,
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that without feare may goe,
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And pick up those most precious crums,
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which they away doe throw.
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O that some pretty 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 oh my heart I wish in vaine,
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no succour I can have,
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No meat, no drink, no 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 to me,
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I die, I die, for lack of bread,
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nought 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 country farre and neere,
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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 towne,
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Yet none durst come to succour him,
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fearing the Emperours frowne.
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The second part, To the same tune.
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YEt now behold one daughter deare,
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he had as I doe find,
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Which liv'd in his displeasure great,
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for matching 'gainst his mind:
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Although she liv's in meane estate,
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she was a vertuous wife,
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And for to helpe her father deare,
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shee ventured thus her life.
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She quickly to her sisters ran,
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and did of them intreat,
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That by some secret meanes they would
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convay their Father meat.
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Our father deare doth starve, she said,
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the Emperours 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 meanes,
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his life for to preserve,
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And suffer not our father deare,
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in prison for to starve:
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Alas quoth they, what shall we doe,
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his hunger to sustaine?
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You know tis death to any one,
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that would his life maintaine.
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And though we wish him well, quoth they
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we never will agree,
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To spoile our selves, we had as leefe
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that he should die, as wee.
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And sister, if you love your selfe,
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let this attempt alone,
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Though you doe nere so secret worke,
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at length it will be knowne.
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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 extremity?
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No, I will venture life and limb,
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to doe my father good,
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The worst that is I can but die,
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to fit a tyrants mood.
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With that away she hies in haste,
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and to the Jayle she goes,
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But with her wofull father deare,
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she might not speake God knowes,
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Except the Emperor would grant
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his 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 Emperour hyes,
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and falling on her knee,
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With wringing hands and bitter teares,
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these words pronounced she:
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My hopelesse Father, gratious 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 wofull place:
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Which I confesse 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 boone to me:
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It chanced so, I matcht my selfe,
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against my fathers mind,
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Whereby I did procure his wrath,
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as fortune false assignd.
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And seeing now the time is come,
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he must resigne his breath,
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Vouchsafe that I may speake with him,
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before his houre of death:
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And reconcile my selfe to him,
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his favour to attaine,
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That when he dies I may not then
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under his curse remaine.
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The Emperor granted her request,
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conditionally that she,
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Each time she to her father came,
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should throughly searched be.
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No bread no meat with her she brought
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to helpe him there distrest,
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But every day she nourisht him,
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with her most tender brest.
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Thus by her milke he was preserv'd,
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a twelve month and a day,
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And was most faire 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 yet his law
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not broke at any hand.
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And much admiring at the same,
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and her great vertue showne,
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Hee pardon'd him, and honor'd her,
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with great preferments knowne.
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Her Father ever after that,
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did love her as his life,
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And blest the time that shee was made,
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a loving wedded wife.
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