A worthy example of a vertuous wife, who fed her father with her owne milke, being
condemned to be famished to death: and after was pardoned by the Emperor.
To the tune of Flying Fame.
|
IN Rome I reade a Nobleman,
|
the Emperour did offend,
|
And for that fact he was adjudg'd
|
unto a cruell end:
|
That he should be in prison cast,
|
with Irons many one,
|
And there be famisht unto death,
|
and brought to skin and bone.
|
And more if anyone were knowne,
|
by night or yet by day,
|
To bring him any kinde of food,
|
his hunger to allay,
|
The Emperor swore a mighty oath,
|
without remorse (quoth he)
|
Thou shalt sustaine the cruellest death,
|
that may devised be,
|
This cruell sentence once pronounc'd,
|
the Nobleman was cast,
|
Into a dungeon darke and deepe,
|
with irons fettered fast,
|
Where when he had with hunger greate
|
remained ten daees space,
|
And neither tasted bread nor drinke,
|
in this most wofull case.
|
The teares along his aged face,
|
most plenteously did fall,
|
And grievously he did beginne,
|
for to complaine withall.
|
O Lord, quoth he, what shall I doe,
|
so hungry Lord am I,
|
For want of bread, one bit of bread,
|
I famish, starve and dye.
|
How precious were one corne of wheat,
|
unto my hungry soule,
|
One crust, one crum, one little piece,
|
my hunger to controle.
|
Had I this dungeon heap[']d with gold
|
I would [forgoe] it [all,
|
To buy and purchase one browne loafe,
|
yea were it nere so small.]
|
O that I had but every day
|
one bit of bread to eate,
|
Though evre so mouldy, blacke or browne
|
my comfort would be great:
|
Yea, albeit I tooke it up
|
trod downe in dirt and mire,
|
It would be pleasing to my taste,
|
and sweet to my desire.
|
Good Lord, how happy is the Hinde,
|
that labours all the day,
|
The drudging slave, the peasant poore
|
which at commandment stay?
|
These have their ordinary meales,
|
they take no heed at all
|
Of those sweet crums & crusts, that they
|
so carelesly let fall.
|
How happy is the little chick,
|
that without feare may goe,
|
And picke up those most precious crums,
|
which they away doe throw,
|
O that some pretty little Mouse,
|
so much my friend would be,
|
To bring some old forsaken crust
|
into this place to me.
|
But oh my heart, I wish in vaine,
|
no succour I can have,
|
No meate, no drink, no water eke,
|
my lothed life to save.
|
O bring some bread for Christ his sake,
|
some bread, some bread to mee:
|
I dye, I dye for lacke of bread
|
nought but stone walls I see.
|
Thus day and night he cryed out,
|
in most outragious sort,
|
That all the countrey farre and neere,
|
were griev'd at his report.
|
And t[hough] that m[a]ny friends he had[,
|
and daughters in the towne,
|
Yet none durst come to succour him,
|
fearing the Emperours frowne.]
|
An[?]
|
[t?]
|
No, [?]
|
to [?]
|
The w[?]
|
to fi[?]
|
With th[?]
|
and to [?]
|
But with [?]
|
she mig[?]
|
Except the[?]
|
his favou[?]
|
The Keepe[?]
|
to enter [?]
|
|
|
|
|
|