A rare Example of a Vertuous Maid in Paris.
Who was by her own Mother procured to be put in Prison, thinking
thereby to compel her to Popery, but she continued to
the end, and 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 therewithal.
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But where they thought to fear her,
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she did most strong endure,
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Although 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 no fiery flame,
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She hopd through 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 to 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 dye at last,
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And on the morrow after,
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which was her dying day,
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They stript this silly Damosel,
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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 dye:
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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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Yourselves I rather pitty,
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I 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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Tormenter to thine 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 at rest.
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But O my aged Father
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wherever thou dost lye,
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Thou knowest not thy poor Daughter,
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is ready for to dye,
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But yet amongst the Angels,
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in Heaven I hope do 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 feal such woe,
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Forsake your Superstition,
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the cause of mortal strife,
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Imbrace Gods true Religion,
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for which I loose 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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