A worthy example of a virtuous 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.  
 

IN Rome I read a Noble man,  
the Emperor did offend,  
And for that fact he was adjudged  
unto a cruel end:  
That he should be in prison cast,  
with irons many a one,  
And there be famished unto death,  
and brought to skin and bone.   

And more, if any one were known,  
by night or yet by day,  
To bring him any kind of food,  
his hunger to allay:  
The Emperor swore a mighty oath▪  
without remorse (quoth he)  
Thou shalt sustain the cruelest death  
that may devised be.   

This cruel sentence once pronounced,  
the Noble man was cast,  
Into a dungeon dark and deep,  
with irons fettered fast:  
Where when he had with hunger great,  
remained ten day's space,  
And neither tasted bread nor drink,  
in this most woeful case.   

The tears along his aged face,  
most plenteously did fall,  
And grievously he did begin  
for to complain withal:  
O Lord, quoth he, what shall I do,  
so hungry Lord am I,  
For want of bread, one bit of bread,  
I famish starve and die.   

How precious were one corn of wheat,  
unto my hungry soul,  
One crust, one crumb, one little piece,  
my hunger to control:  
Had I this dungeon heaped with Gold,  
I would forgo it all,  
To 〈◊〉 and purchase one brown loaf,  
yea were it ne'er so small.   

O that I had but every day,  
one bit of bread to eat,  
Though ne'er so mouldy black or brown  
my comfort would be great:  
Yea albeit I took it up,  
trod down in dirt and mire,  
It would be pleasing to my taste,  
and sweet to my desire.   

Good Lord how happy is the Hind,  
that labours all the day,  
The drudging slave, the peasant poor,  
which at commandment stay:  
These have their ordinary meals,  
they take no heed at all  
Of those sweet crumbs and crusts, that they  
so carelessly let fall.   

How happy is the little chick,  
that without fear may go,  
And pick up those most precious crumbs,  
which they away do throw.  
O that same 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 vain,  
no succour I can have.  
No meat, no drink, no water eke,  
my loathed life to save.  
O bring some bread for Christ his sake,  
some bread, some bread to me,  
I die, I die, for lack of bread,  
nought but stone walls I see.   

Thus day and night he cried out,  
in most outrageous sort,  
That all the country far and near,  
were grieved at his report.  
And though that many friends he had,  
and daughters in the town,  
Yet none durst come to succour him,  
fearing the Emperor's frown.   

The second part,  
To the same tune▪  

YEt now behold one daughter dear,  
he had as I do find.  
Which lived in his displeasure great,  
for matching against his mind:  
Although she lived in mean estate,  
she was a virtuous wife,  
And for to help her father dear,  
she ventured thus her life.   

She quickly to her sisters ran,  
and did of them entreat,  
That by some secret means they would  
convey their Father meat.  
Our father dear doth starve, she said,  
the Emperor's wrath is such,  
He dies alas for want of food,  
whereof we have too much.   

Sweet sisters therefore use some means,  
his life for to preserve,  
And suffer not our father dear,  
in prison for to starve:  
Alas quoth they, what shall we do,  
his hunger to sustain?  
You know 'tis death to any one,  
that would his life maintain.   

And though we wish him well, quoth they  
we never will agree,  
To spoil ourselves, we had as lief  
that he should die, as we.  
And sister, if you love yourself,  
let this attempt alone,  
Though you do ne'er so secret work,  
at length it will be known.   

O hath our Father brought us up,  
and nourished us, quoth she,  
And shall we now forsake him quite,  
in his extremity?  
No, I will venture life and limb,  
to do my father good,  
The worst that is I can but die,  
to fit a tyrant's mood.   

With that away she hies in haste,  
and to the jail she goes,  
But with her woeful father dear,  
she might not speak God knows,  
Except the Emperor would grant  
his favour in that case:  
The Keeper would admit no wight  
to enter in that place.   

Then she unto the Emperor hies,  
and falling on her knee,  
With wring hands and bitter tears,  
these words pronounced she:  
My hopeless Father, gracious Lord,  
offending of your Grace,  
Is judged unto a pining death,  
within a woeful place:   

Which I confess he hath deserved,  
yet mighty Prince, quoth she,  
Vouchsafe in gracious sort, to grant  
one simple boon to me:  
It chanced so, I matched myself,  
against my father's mind,  
Whereby I did procure his wrath,  
as fortune false assigned.   

And seeing now the time is come,  
he must resign his breath,  
Vouchsafe that I may speak with him  
before his hour of death:  
And reconcile myself to him,  
his favour to attain,  
That when he dies I may not then  
under his curse remain.   

The Emperor granted her request,  
conditionally that she,  
Each time she to her father came,  
should throughly searched be.  
No bread no meat with her she brought  
to help him there distressed,  
But every day she nourished him,  
with her most tender breast.   

Thus by her milk he was preserved,  
a twelve month and a day,  
And was most fair and fat to see,  
yet no man knew which way.  
The Emperor musing much thereat,  
at length did understand,  
How he was fed, and yet his law  
not broke at any hand.   

And much admiring at the same,  
and her great virtue shown,  
He pardoned him, and honoured her,  
with great preferments known.  
Her Father ever after that,  
did love her as his life,  
And blessed the time that she was made,  
a loving wedded wife.   
FINIS.    

London Printed for E.W.