But where they thought to fear her,
She did most strong endure,
Although her years were tender,
Her faith was firm and sure.
She weigh'd not their allurements,
She fear'd not fiery flames,
She hop'd thro' 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, My God, grant me with patience (Quoth she) to die at last.

And on the morrow after,
Which was her dying day,
They stript this silly damsel,
Out of her nice 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,

Lamenting of their case.

You ladies of this city,

Mark well my words (quoth she); Although I shall be burned

Yet do not pity me, Yourselves I rather pity,

And 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 hither my Bible,

Wherein I take delight.

But my distressed mother

Why weep you? be content, You have to death delivered me, Most like an innocent: Tormentor do thy office

On me when thou think'st best, But God, my heavenly Father, Will bring my soul to rest.

But oh, my aged father,
Wherever 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, Wherefore, 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 God's true religion,
For which I lose my life.

When all these words were ended,
Then came the man of death,
Who kindled soon a fire,

Which stopt 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.

XXXII.

THE MAD MAN'S MORRICE.

HEARD you not lately of a man,
That went besides his wits,

And naked through the street he ran,
Wrapt in his frantic fits?

My honest neighbours, it is I,

Hark, how the people flout me,

See where the mad man comes! they cry, With all the boys about me.

Into a pond stark-naked I ran
And cast away my cloaths, Sir,
Without the help of any man
Made shift to get away, Sir,
How I got out I have forgot,
I do not well remember,
Or whether it was cold or hot,
In June or in December.

Tom Bedlam's but a sage to me,
I speak in sober sadness,
For more strange visions do I see
Than he in all his madness

When first to me this chance befel,

About the market walkt I, With capon's feathers in my cap,

And to myself thus talkt I :

Did you not see my

love of late,

Like Titan in her glory?

Did you not know she was my mate,

And I must write her story,

With pen of gold on silver leaf,

I will so much befriend her,

For why I am of that belief,

None can so well commend her.