A Worthy example of a virtuous Wife, who fed ● her ●ather with her own Milk: being condemned to be starved to death▪ and aftwards pardoned by the Emperor.  
The Tune is, Flying Fame.  
 

IN Rome I read a Nobleman  
the Emperor did offend,  
And for that fault 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,  
They should sustain the crueld`st death  
that could devised be.   

This cruel sentence once pronounc`d,  
the Nobleman 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 fa●s,  
most plenteously did fall,  
And grievously he did begin  
for to compain withal:  
O Lord, quoth he, what shall I do?  
so hungry Lord am I,  
For want of bread, one bit of bread,  
I famish stathe and die.   

How precious is one grain of Wheat,  
unto my hungry soul?  
One crust or crumb, or little piece,  
my hunger to contro●l:  
Had I this Dungeon heaped with gold,  
I would forgo it all,  
To buy and purchase one brown loaf,  
yea were it ne`r so small.   

O that I had but ever day  
one bit ofbread to eat,  
Though ne'er so moldy, 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 Mule, the Peasant poor  
that at command do stay:  
They have their Ordinary meals,  
they take no herd at all,  
Of those sweet crumbs and crusts that they  
do carelessly let fell.   

How happy is that little Chick,  
that without fear may go,  
And pick up those most precious crumbs  
which they away did 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 I can have,  
No meat, nor drink, nor water ●ke;  
my loathed life to save:  
O bring some bread for Christ his sake,  
some bread, some bread for me,  
I die, I die for lack of food,  
none but st●ne 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.   

Yet now behold one Daughter dear  
he had as I do find,  
Who 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 went  
and of them did 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 your Father dear,  
in Prison for to starve:  
Alas, (quoth they) what shall we do,  
his hunger to sustain,  
You know 'tis death for any one,  
that would his life maintain.   

And though we wish him well, qd. 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 sacred 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 Prison goes;  
But with her woeful Father dear  
she might not speak God knows▪  
Except the Emyeror would grant  
her favour in that case,  
The Keeper would admit no Wight  
to enter in that place.   

Then she unto the Emperor hies,  
and fa●●ing 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 match myself  
against my Father's mind:  
Whereby I did procure his Wrath▪  
as fortune hath assigned.   

And seeing now the 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 obtain:  
That when he dies I may not th●●  
under his curse remain.   

The Emperor granetd her request,  
conditionally that she:  
Each time unto her Father came,  
should throughly searched be,  
no meat nor bread, she with her brought  
to help him there distressed:  
But every day she nourished him,  
with milk from her own Breast.   

Thus by her milk he was preserb'●  
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 not his Law,  
was broke at any hand.   

And much admired 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 blest the time that she was mad●  
a loving Wedded Wife▪    

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright▪