THE
VIRGIN MARTYR.
There was a Lady's daughter
In Paris properly,
Her mother her commanded
To mass that she should hie:
O pardon me, dear mother,
Her daughter she did say,
Unto that filthy idol
I never will obey.
With weeping and with wailing
Her mother then did go,
To assemble her kinsfolk.
That they the truth might know;
Who being all assembled then,
Compell'd the maiden fair,
And put her into prison,
Withal to fear her there.
But when they thought to fear her,
She did most strong endure;
Altho' her years were tender,
Her faith was firm and sure:
