Canaans calamitie Ierusalems misery, or The dolefull destruction of faire Ierusalem by Tytus, the sonne of Vaspasian Emperour of Rome, in the yeare of Christs incarnation 74 Wherein is shewed the woonderfull miseries which God brought vpon that citty for sinne, being vtterly ouer-throwne and destroyed by sword, pestilence and famine.

¶How the noble Lady and her young S••nne went to out the dung of beasts to eate, being ready to dye with hun∣ger, and could finde none: shewing what moane they made comming home without,

BVt now of Miriams sorrow will I speake, Whom the seditious Souldiers so distrest, Her noble heart with girfe was like to breake, No kind of foode had she, then to reliue her, With gnawing hunger was she, sore opprest Nor for her child: which most of all did grieue her.

Alas quoth shee that euer I was borne, To see these gloomie daies of griefe and care, whome this false world hath mede an open scorne, Fraught full of miserie passing all compare: Blest had I been if in the painefull birth, I had receiu'd sweete sentence of my death.

Why hath the partiall heauens prolong'd my life, Aboue a number of my deerest friends, Whose blessed soules did neuer see the strife, How happy were they in their happy ends: Great God of Abraham heare my mournefull crie, Soone rid my life or end this miserie.

With that her little sonne with eager looke, Vnto his wofull mother crying came, His pretty hands fast hold vpon her tooke, Whose presence brought, her praying out of frame: And to his Mother thus the child did say, Giue mee some meate, that eat nothing to day.

I am (deere Mother) hungry at the heart, And scalding thirst, makes me I cannot speake, I feele my strength decay in euery part, One bit of bread, for me good Mother breake, My lesson I haue learnd, where you did lay it, Then giue me some what: you shall heere me say it.

The sighing Ladie looking quite a-side, With many ••obs sent from her wofull soule, Wroung both her hands, but not one word replide, Sighes stopt her toung, teares did her tongue cōtroul, Sweete Lady mother, mother speake (quoth he?) O let me not with hunger murdered bee.

Deere child she said, what wouldst thou haue of me? Art thou a thirst, then come and drinke my teares, For other succour haue I none for thee, The time hath been, I could haue giueu thee peares: Rose coulered apples, cherries for my child, But now alas, of all wee are beguild.

But come quoth she, giue me thy little finger, And thou and I will to the back-yard goe, And there seeke out a Cow-cake For thy dinner, How saist thou sonne art thou contented so? The ioyfull child did hereat giue a smile, When both his eyes with water ran the while.

Then vp and downe with warie s••arching eye, In euery place for beasts dung doth she seeke, As if a long lost Iewell there did lye, Clo••e hidden in some narrow chink or creeke: When she lookt and nought at all had found, Then downe she coucheth on the sluttish ground.

And with her faire white fingers fine and small, She scrapes away the dust and draffe togeather, and so doth search through out the Oxes stall, For dung or hoofes, or some old peece of leather: But when in vaine her paines she did bestow, She paid her heart the interest of her woe.

And lifting vp with sorow her bright eyes, She cald her little Sonne to come away, Who sought as fast for spiders, wormes and flies, As she for Ordure mongst the mouldy hay, O stay a while good mother did he cry, For heere euen now I did a maggot spie.

At which sweete sight my teeth did water yet, Euen as you cald, she fell her in the dust, An hower were well spent, this prize to get, To let her slip, I thinke I was accurst: My hungry stomacke, well it would haue stayd, And I haue lost her I am sore affraid.

I, I, my Sonne, it may be so (quoth shee,) Then come away: let vs togeather dye, Our lucklesse starres alots it so to be, Peace my sweete boy, alack why dost thou cry, Had I found any thing, thou shouldst haue seen, That therewithall we would haue merry been,

Then be thou still (my sonne) and weepe no more, For with my t••ares, thou kilst my wounded heart, Thy neede is great, my hunger is as sore, Which grieues my soule, and pinches euery part: Yet hope of helpe alack I know not any, Without, within, our foes they are so many.

Deare mother heare me one word and no moe, See heere my foote so slender in your sight, Giue me but leaue to eate my little toe, No be••ter supper will I aske to night: Or else my thumbe: a morsell small you see, And these two ioynts, me thinks may spared be.

My sonne quoth she great are thy cares God wot, To haue thy hungry stomack fil'd with food, Yet all be it we haue so hard a lot, Dismember not thy selfe for any good: No brutish beast, will doe so foule a deede, Then doe not thou gainst nature so proceed,

But O my sonne, what shall I doe quoth she▪ My griefe of hunger is as great as thine, And sure no hope of comfort doe I see, But we must yeild our selues to starue and pine: The wrath of God doth siege the Citty round, And we within fell famine doth confound.

The sword without, intends our desolation, Consuming pestilence destroyeth heere within, Ciuell dissention breedes our hearts vexation, The angry heauens, the same hath sent for sinne, Murders, and ruine through our streete•• doe run, Then how can I feede thee, my louing sonne?

Yf pale fac't famine take away my life, Why then, with whome should I trust thee my sonen Far heer's no loue, but hate and deadly strife, Woe is that child, whose parents dayes are done: One thee sweete boy no person would take pitty, For milde compassion, hath forsooke the citty.

Once I retaynd, this ioyfull hope of thee, When ripened yeares, brought thee to mans estate, That thou shouldst be a comfort vnto me, Feeding my age, when youthfull strength did bate: And haue my meate my drinke and cloth of thee, Fit for a Lady of so high degree.

And when the span length, of my life was done, That God and nature, claim'd of me their due, My hope was then, that thou my louing Sonne, In Marble stone, my memorie should renew: And bring my corpes, with honour to the graue, The latest dutie, men of children crau••,

But now I see (my sweete and bonny boy) This hope is fruitlesse, and these thoughts are vaine, I see grim death, hath seaz'd my earthly ioy, I or ••amines dart hath thee already slaine: Thy hollow eyes and wrinckled cheekes declare, Thou art not markt, to be thy Fathers heire.

Looke on thy legges, see all thy flesh is gone, Thy ••ollie thighes, are fallen quite away, Thy a••mes and handes, nothing but skin, and bone How weake thy heart is, thou thy selfe canst say: I haue no foode, to strengthen thee (my child,) And heere thy buriall would be too too vilde.

Wherefore my Sonne least vgly Rauens and Crowes, Should eate thy carcas••e in the stincking streetes, Thereby to be a scorne vnto our foes, And gaule to me, that gaue thee many sweets: I haue prepaird, this my vnspotted wombe, To be for thee an honourable Tombe.

Then sith thou canst not liue to be a man, What time thou mightst haue fed thy aged mother, Therefore my child it lyes thee now vpon, To be my foode, because I haue no other: With my one blood, long time I nourisht thee, Then with thy flesh, thou oughtst to cherish mee.

Within this wombe thou first receiuedst breath, Then giue thy mother, that which she gaue thee, Here hadst thou life, then lye here after death, Sith thou hadst beene, so welbeloude of me: In spight of foes, be thou my dayly food, And saue my life, that can doe thee no good,

In blessed Eden shall thy soule remaine, While that my belly is thy bodyes graue, There is no taste of famine woe or paine But ioyes eternall, more then heart can craue: Then who would wish, in sorrow to perseuer, That by his death might liue in heauen for euer.