(4)
But feeing many Ladies Affembled in that place, Thofe words file then pronounced, Lamenting fore their cafe.
You Ladies in this city, Mark well my werds, quoth foe, Altho' I fhall be burned, Yet do not pity me; Yourfelves I r ther pity, And weep for your decay; Amend your lives fair Ladies all, And do not time delay.
Then came her mother weeping. Her daughter to behold. And in her hand fhe brought her A book covered with gold ! Throw henee quoth foe, that idol, Convey it from my fight, And bring me here my Bible, Wherein I molt delight.
But my diftreffed mother, Why weep ye? — Be content. You have to death delivered me, Moft like an innocent:
