( 3 )
She valu'd no allurements,
Nor fear'd the fiery flame!
She hop'd, thro' Christ, her Saviour,
To have immortal fame,
Before the Judge they brought her,
Thinking that she would turn
And there was condemned
Into a fire to burn!
Instead of golden bracelets,
With cords the bound her fast!
My God! grant with patience
(Qaoth she) to die at last.
And on the morrow after,
Which was her dying day,
They stript the silly damsel
Out of her rich array!
Her chains 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:
