The Lady Isabella's Tragedy; OR, The Stepmother's Cruelty.  
Being a Relation of a most Lamentable and Cruel Murder, committed on the Body of the Lady Isabel, the only Daughter of a Noble Duke occasioned by the means of a Stepmother and the Master-Cook, who were both adjudged to suffer a Cruel death, for committing the said Horrid Act.  
To the Tune of, The Ladies Fall.  
 

THere was a Lord of worthy fame  
and a Hunting he would ride,  
Attended by a noble Train,  
of Gentry by his side.   

And whilst be did in chase remain,  
to see both sport and play,  
His Lady went as she did feign,  
unto the Church to pray.   

This Lord he had a Daughter fair  
whose beauty shined so bright:  
She was beloved both far and near  
of many a Lord and Knight.   

Fair Isabel was she called,  
A Creature fair was she,  
She was her father's only jay,  
as you shall after see,   

But yet her Cruel stepmother,  
did envy her so much,  
That day by day the sought her life  
her Malice it was such.   

She bargained with the Master-Cook  
to take her life away,  
And taking of her Daughter's Book,  
she thus to her did say.   

Go home sweet Daughter, I thee 〈◊〉  
go hasten presently.  
And reli●●to the Master-Cook  
these words that I tell thee.   

And bid him dress to Dinner strait,  
that fair and milk white do.  
That in the Park both shine so bright,  
there's none so fair to show.   

THis Lady fearing of no harm,  
obeyed her Mother's will,  
And presently she basted home,  
her mind for to fulfil.   

She straight into the Kitchen went,  
her message for to tell;  
And there the Master Cook she spied,  
who did with Malice swell.   

You Master-Cook it must be so,  
do that which I thee tell,  
You needs must dress the milk white do,  
which you do know full well.   

Then straight his cruel bloody hands,  
be on the Lady laid,  
Who quivering and shaking stands,  
whilst thus to her be said.   

Thou art the Ore that I must dress;  
see here behold my Knife  
For it is pointed presently,  
to rid thee of thy life.   

O than cried out the Scullen boy  
as loud as loud might he;  
O save her Life good Master-Cook,  
and make your Pies of me,   

For pity sake do not destroy,  
my Lady with your Knife,  
You know she is her father's 〈◊〉,  
for Christ's soak save her life.   

I will not save her life he said,  
nor make my Pies of thee,  
But if thou dost this deed bewray,  
thy Butcher I will be,   

But when this Lord be did come home  
for to sit down and eat,  
He called for his Daughter dear,  
to come and carve his meat.   

Now sit you down his Lady said,  
O sit you down to meat,  
Into some Nunnery she is gone,  
your Daughter dear forget.   

Then solemnly he made a bow,  
before the company,  
That be would neither eat nor drink,  
until he did her see,   

O then bespoke the Scullen-boy,  
with a loud voice so high,  
If that you will your Daughter see,  
my Lord cut up that Pye.   

Wherein her flesh is minced small  
and parched with the fire:  
All caused by her Stepmother,  
who did her death desire.   

And cursed be the Master-Cook,  
— O cursed may he be,  
I proffered him my own hearts blood,  
from death to set her free.   

Then all in black this Lord did mourn,  
and for his Daughter's sake,  
He judged for her Stepmother,  
to be burnt at a Stake.   

Likewise he judged the Master-Cook,  
in boiling Lead to stand;  
And made the simple Scullen Boy,  
the Heir to all his Land.    

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pye. Corner.