%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> ROMAN CHARITY. / A Worthy Example of a Virtuous WIFE, / Who fed her Father with her own Milk. / He being commanded by the Emperor to be Starved to Death, / but afterwards Pardoned. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1763-1763 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/21/2011 31226

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

T45191 IN Rome, I read a Nobleman / The Emperor did offend, Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 3: 518 3: 519 ROMAN CHARITY. / A Worthy Example of a Virtuous WIFE, / Who fed her Father with her own Milk. / He being commanded by the Emperor to be Starved to Death, / but afterwards Pardoned. ROMAN CHARITY. A Worthy Example of a Virtuous WIFE, Who fed her Father with her own Milk. He being commanded by the Emperor to be Starved to Death, but afterwards Pardoned. ROMAN CHARITY. A Worthy Example of a Virtuous WIFE, Who fed her Father with her own Milk. He being commanded by the Emperor to be Starved to Death, but afterwards Pardoned. 1763-1763

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious types & sects royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic The New World travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgarities/ crass humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 4/21/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America affliction/ health family politics/ government punishment virtue Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/21/2011 3:00:55 PM XBallad Meyer, Shannon Created XML Version of Ballad 4/21/2011 3:00:55 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/21/2011 3:00:55 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/21/2011 3:00:55 PM Transcriptionist Two Foley, Christopher Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/21/2011 3:00:55 PM Transcriptionist One Fadel, Meghan Transcription of ballad manuscript 1/27/2009 Bibliographer Meghan Fadel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 1/20/2011 Checker Grafals Michael Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/20/2011 Checker Grafals Michael Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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IN Rome, I read a Nobleman The Emperor did offend, And for that fault he was adjudgd Unto a cruel End. That he should be in prison cast With irons many a one; And there be famishd unto death, And brought to skin and bones 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 shall sustain the cruelest death That can devised be. This cruel sentence once pronouncd The Nobleman was cast.
Into a dungeon deep and dark, With irons fetterd fast; Where when he had with hunger great Remained ten days space; And tasted neither meat nor drink, In a most woeful case. The tears along his aged face, Most piteously did fall, And grieviously he did begin For to complain: O Lord! quoth he, what shall I do? So hungry am I; For want of bread, one bit of bread, I perish, starve, and die. How precious is one grain of wheat Unto a hungry soul? One crust or crumb, or little piece My hunger to controul.
Had I this dungeon heapd with gold, I now would give it all, To buy and purchase one small loaf, Yea, were it eer so small. O that I had but every day One bit of bread to eat, Tho neer so mouldy, black, or brown My comfort would be great. Yes, tho I did take it up, Trod down in dirt and mire, It would be pleasing to my taste, And sweet to my desire. Good Lord! most 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 heed at all,
Of those crumbs and crusts that they Do carelesly let fall. How happy is the little chick, Who without fear doth go, And pick up those precious crumbs Which they away do throw. O that some pretty small mouse, So much my friend would be, To bring some old forsaken crust Into this place to me. But O my heart it is in vain, No succour can I have; No meat, no drink, nor water eke, My loathed life to save. O bring some bread for Christs sake, Some bread, some bread to me; I die, I die, for want of food, None but stone walls I see. Thus night and day he cryd, In such outrageous sort; That all the people far and near, were grievd at his report. And tho great many Friends he had, And daughters in the town; Yet none durst come to succour him, Fearing the Emperors frown. Yet now behold one daughter dear, He had as we do find; Who livd in his displeasure great For not wedding to his mind. Altho she livd in mean estate, She was a virtuous wife, And for to help her father dear She venturd 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 doth starve, said she, The Emperors wrath is such, He dies, alas, for want of food, Whereof we have too much. Pray sisters, therefore use some means His life for to preserve: And suffer not your father dear In prison for to starve. Alas, said they, what shall we do His hunger to sustain, You know tis death for any one That would his life maintain; And tho we wish him well, said 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; Tho you do neer so secret work, In time it will be known. O hath our father brought us up, And nourishd 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 tyrants mood. With that in haste away she flies, And to the prison goes; But with her dismal father dear She might not speak, God knows, Except the Emperor would grant Her father in that case; The keeper would admit no one To enter in that place. Then she unto the Emperor hies, And falling on her knees, With wringing hands and bitter cries, These words pronounced she: My helpless father, sovereign Liege, Offending of your Grace; Is judgd unto a pining death, Within a dismal place; Which I confess he has deservd, Yet mighty prince, says she, Vouchsafe in gracious sort to grant One simple boon to me. It chanced so, I matchd myself Against my fathers mind, Whereby I did procure his wrath, As fortune had assignd. And seeing now the time is come, He must resign his breath, Vouchsafe that I may speak to him Before the hour of death. And reconcile myself to him, His favour to obtain, That when he dies, I may not there Under his curse remain. The Emperor granted her request, Conditionally that she, Each day unto her father went, Should thoroughly searched be. No meat or drink she with her brought To help him him there distrest, But every day she nourishd him With milk from her own breast. Thus by her milk he was preservd A twelvemonth and a day; And was so fair and fat to see, Yet none could tell 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 virtues shown, He pardond him, and honourd her With great preferments known. Her father ever after that; Lovd her as his life; And blest the day that she was made A virtuous loving wife.
Sold in Aldermary Churchyard, London