A Worthy example of a virtuous Wife, who fed her Father with her own Milk, being condemned to be starved to death, and afterwards pardoned by the Emperor. The tune is 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 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,  
They should sustain the cruelest death,  
that could 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 days' space,  
And neither tasted meat 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 is 〈◊〉 grain of W●●●●  
unto my hungry 〈◊〉,  
One crust, one crumb one little 〈◊〉  
my hunger to contr●●●.  
Had I this Dungeon heaped with gold,  
I would forgo it all,  
To buy and purchase one brown Loaf,  
yea were it ne'er so small.  
O that I had but every day,  
one bit of it 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 haw happy is the Hind,  
that labours all the day,  
The drudging the Peasant poor,  
that at command doth stay:  
They have their ordinary meals,  
they take no heed at all,  
Of those sweet crumbs and crust that they  
do 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 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, it is in vain,  
no succour can I have,  
No meat, no drink, nor water eke,  
my loathed life to save.  
O bring some bread for Christ's his sake,  
some bread, some bread for me,  
I die, I die for lack of Food,  
nought but stone walls I see.  
Thus da●e 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.  
Yet now behold one daughter dear,  
he had as I do find,  
Who lived in his displeasure great,  
for matching against his mind.  
Although he 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 went,  
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 léef,  
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 in hast she hies,  
and to the jail she goes,  
But with her woeful Father dear,  
she might not speak God knows;  
Except the Emperor would grant,  
her favour in that case  
This keeper would admit no wight,  
to enter in that place.  
Then she unto the Emperor hies,  
and falling on her knee,  
With wringing 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,  
at Fortune hath 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 my se●fe to him,  
his favour to obtain;  
That when he dies I may not then  
under his curse remain.  
The Emperor granted her request,  
conditionally that she,  
Each time unto her Father came  
should thoroughly searched be,  
No bread nor meat she with her 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 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 preferment known,  
Her Father ever after that  
did love her as his life,  
And blessed the time that she was made  
a loving wedded wife.   

Printed for F. Cole, T. Vere, and William Gilbertson.