A rare Example of a virtuous Maid in Paris, Who was by her own Mother procured to be put in Prison, thinknig thereby to compel ker to Popery, but she continued to the end, and finished her life in the Fire.  
Tune is, O man in desperation.  

IT was a Lady's Daughter,  
of Paris properly,  
Her Mother her commanded  
to Mass that she should high  
O pardon me dear mother  
her Daughter dear did say;  
Unto that filthy Idol,  
I never can obey.   

With weeping and with wailing,  
her mother then did go,  
To assemble her kinsfolks,  
that they the truth may know;  
Who being then assembled,  
they did this Maiden call,  
And put her into prison,  
to fear her there withal,   

But where they thought to fear her,  
she did most strong endure:  
Although her years were tender  
her faith was firm and sure:  
She weighed not their allurements  
she feared no fiery flame:  
she hoped though Christ her Saviour,  
to have immortal fame.   

Before the judge they brought her,  
thinking that she would turn,  
And there she was condemned  
in fire for to burn:  
Instead of golden Bracelets,  
with cords they bound her fast:  
By God grant me with patience  
(quoth she) to die at last.   

And on the morrow after,  
which was her dying day;  
They stripped this silly Dantosel  
out of her rich array:  
Her chain of gold so costly  
away from her they take,  
And she again most joyfully  
did all the world forsake.   

Unto the place of torment  
they brought her speedily,  
With heart and mind most constant,  
she willing was to die:  
But seeing many Ladies  
assembled in that place:  
These words she then pronounced,  
samenting then their case.   

You Ladies of this City,  
mark well my woros (quoth she)  
Although I shall be burned,  
yet do not pity me.  
Yourselves I rather pity,  
I weep for your decay,  
Amend your time fair Ladies,  
and do no time delay.   

Then came her Mother weeping,  
her Daughter to behold:  
And in her hand she brought her  
a book covered with gold.  
Throw hence (quoth she) that Idol,  
convey it from my sight,  
And bring me hit her my Bible,  
wherein I most delight.   

But my distressed Mother  
why weep you? be content,  
You have to death delivered me,  
most like an innocent:  
Tormenter do thine office  
on me when thou think'st best,  
But God my heavenly father  
will bring my soul to rest.   

But, D my aged Father,  
where ever thou dost lie,  
Thou know'st not thy poor daughter.  
is ready for to die:  
But yet amongst the Angels,  
in heaven I hope to dwell,  
Therefore my loving Father  
I bid thee now farewell.   

Farewell likewise my mother,  
adieu my friends also,  
God grant that you by others,  
may never feel such woe:  
Forsake your superstition  
the cause of mortal strife:  
Embrace Gods true Religion  
for which I lose my life.   

When all these words were spoken,  
then come the man of death,  
Who kindled soon a fire,  
which stopped this Virgin's breath:  
To Christ her only Saviour  
she did her soul commend,  
Farewell (quoth she) good people,  
and thus she made an end.    

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wrigh●, ●nd J. Clark,