Selected quad for the lemma: blood_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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B07734
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A pore helpe. The buklar and defence of mother holy kyrke, and weapē to driue hence al that against her wircke..
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Shepherd, Luke, fl. 1548.
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1548
(1548)
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STC 13051.7; ESTC S92913
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3,467
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15
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A pore helpe â–ª ☜ ⸫ ☞ ¶ The buklar and defence Of mother holy kyrke And weapeÌ„ to driue hence Al that against her wircke ⧠⧠WYll none in all this lande Step forth and take in hande These felowes to withstance In nombrelyke the sande That with the Gospell melles And wyll do nothynge elles But tratlynge tales telies Agaynst our holy prelacie And holy churches dygnitie Sayinge it is but papistrie Yea fayned and Hipocrisy Erronious and heresye And taketh theyr aucthoritie Out of the holy Euangelie All customes ceremoniall And rytes ecclesiasticall Not grounded on scripture No longer to endure And thus ye maye be sure The people they alure And drawe them from your lore The whiche wyll greue you sore Take hede I saye therfore Your nede was neuer more But sens ye be so slacke It greueth me a lacke To heare behynde your backe Howe they wyll carpe and cracke And none of you that dare Whiche one of them compare Yet some there be that are So bolde to shewe theyr ware And is no priest nor deacon And yet wyll fyre his becone Agaynst suche felowes frayle Make out with tothe and nayle And hoyste vp meyne sayle And manfully to fyght In holy prelates ryght With penne and ynke and paper And lyke no triflynge Iaper To touche these felowes in dede With all expedient spede And not before it nede And I in dede am he That wayteth for to se Who dare so hardy be To encounter here with me I stande here in defence Of some that be far hence And can both blysse and sence And also vndertake Ryght holy thynges to make Yea God within a cake And who so that forsake His breade shall be dowe bake I openly professe The holy blyssed masse Of strength to be no lesse Then it was at the fyrst But I wolde se who durst Set that amonge the worst For he shulde be acurst With boke bell and candell And so I wolde hym handell That he shulde ryght well knowe Howe to escape I trowe So hardy on his heade Depraue our holy breade Or els to prate or patter Agaynst our holy watter This is a playne matter It nedeth not to flatter They be suche holy thynges As hath ben vsed with kynges And yet these lewde loselles That bragge vpon theyr Gospelles At ceremonies swelles And at our christined belles And at our longe gownes And at your shauen crownes And at your typttes fyne The Iauelles wyll repyue They saye ye leade euyll lyues With other mennes wyues And wyll none of your owne And so your sede is sowne In other mennes grounde True wedlocke to confounde Thus do they rayle and raue Callynge euery priest knaue That loueth messe to saye And after ydle all daye They wolde not haue you playe To dryue the tyme awaye But brabble on the Byble Whiche is but vnpossible To be learned in all your lyfe Yet therin be they ryfe Whiche maketh all this stryfe And also the Paraphrasies Moche dyfferyng from your portaises They wolde haue dayly vsed And portaise cleane refused But they shall be accused That haue so farre abused Theyr tongues agaynst suche holynes And holy churches busynes Made hundred yeares a go Great clearkes affyrmeth so And other many mo That searched to and fro In scripture for to fynde What they myght leaue behynde For to be kept in mynde Amonge the people blynde As wauerynge as the wynde And wrote therof suche bokes That who so on them lokes Shall fynde them to be clarkes As proueth by theyr warkes And yet there be that barcke And saye they be but darcke But harke ye loulars harke So well we shall you marcke That yf the worlde shall turne A sorte of you shall burne Ye durst as well I saye Within this two yeares daye As soone to runne awaye As suche partes to playe When some dyd rule and reygne And auncient thynges mayntayne Whiche nowe be counted hayne And brought into dysdayne Suche men I saye they were As loued not this geare And kept you styll in feare To burne â—r faggottes here Then durst ye not be bolde Agaynst our learnynges olde Or images of golde Whiche nowe be bought and solde And were the laye mannes boke Wheron they ought to loke One worde to speake a mysse Can ye saye nay to this No no ye foles I wysse A thynge to playne it is Then dyd these clarkes diuyne Dayly them selues enclyne To proue and to defyue That Christes body aboue Whiche suffered for our loue And dyed for our behoue Is in the sacrament Fleshe bloude and boue present And breade and wyne awaye Assone as they shall saye The wordes of consecracion In tyme of celebracion So muste it be in dede Thoughe it be not in the crede And yet these felowes newe Wyll saye it is not true Christes body for to vewe With any bodyly eye That do they playne deny And stifly stande therby And enterpryse to wryght And also to endyght Bokes both great and small Agaynst these fathers all And heresy it call That any man shulde teache Or to the people preache Suche thynges without theyr reache And some there be that saye That Christ cannot all day Be kept within a box Nor yet set in the stockes Nor hydden lyke a fox Nor presoner vnderlockes Nor clothed with powdred armyne Nor bredeth stynkynge vermyne Nor dweleth in an howse Nor earyn of a mouse Nor rotten is nor rustye Nor moth eaten nor mustye Nor lyght as is a fether Nor blowne awaye with wether Nor moulde or he be spent Nor yet with syre be brente Nor can no more be slayne Nor offered vp agayne Blessed sacrament for thy passion Here and se our exclamacion Agaynst these men of newe facion That stryue agaynst the holy nacion And Iest of them in playes In tauerns and bye wayes And theyr good acâ—es dysprayse And martyrs wolde them make That brent were at a stake And synge pype mery annot And play of wyll not cannot And as for cannot and wyll not Thoughe they speake not of it it skyll not For a noble clarke of late And worthy in estate Hath played with them chekmate Theyr courage to abate Marke well his text He hath ben curstly vext I teare me he be wext A popistant flour Surely all the rout That here 's hym shall doubt He wyll be in and out Prowlynge rounde about To get forth the suout If prayer maye do good All the whole broode Skuruy shabed and skalde Shauen shorne and balde Pore priestes of Baule We praye for hym all Unto the God of breade For yt he be deade We maye go to bed Blyndefylde and beled Without rag or shred But I am sore adred I se hym lake so red Yet I durste ley my heade As doctor fryer sayde He hath some what in sâ—ore Well you shall knewe more Herken well therfore Some shall paye the shore He hath ben a pardoner And also a garddener He hath ben a vytailer A lordly hospytelar A noble teacher And so so a preacher Thoughe Germyn his man Were hanged what than Saye worsse and you can Best let hym alone For Peter Iames and Iohn And Apostles euery one I gyue you playne warnynge Had neuer such learnynge As hath this famous clarke He is learned be beyond the marke And also maister huggarde Doth shewe hym selfe no sluggarde Nor yet no dronken druggarde But sharpeth vp his wyt And frameth it so fyt These yonkers for to hyt And wyll not them permyt In errour shall to syt As it maye weliapeare By his clarkely answere The whiche intitled is Agaynst what meaneth this A man of olde sorte And wryteth not in sporte But answereth earnestly Concludynge heresy And yet as I trowe Some bluster and blowe And crake as they crowe But nettes wyll we laye To cache them yf we maye For yf I begynne I wyll brynge them in And feche in my cosens By the whole dosens And call them coram nobis And teache them do minus vobis With his et cum spiritu tuo That holy be both dao When they be sayde and songe In holy latyn tongue And solemne belles be ronge But these babes be to yonge Perkynge vpon theyr patins And fayne wolde haue the mattens And eueinge songe also In Englishe to be do With mariage and baptysinge Buryalles and other thynge In vulgare tongue to saye and synge And so they do it newly In dyuerse places truly Sayinge they do but duely Mayntainynge it in any wyse So shulde they do theyr seruyce Alas who wolde not mone Or rather grunt or groue To se suche seruyce gone Whiche saued many one From deadly synne and shame And many a spote of blame From purgatorye payne And many showre of rayne Well yet I saye agayne Some honest men remayne And kepe theyr customes styll And euer more wyll Wherfore in dede my read is To take you to your beades All men and women I saye That vseth so to praye That suche good priestes maye Contynue so alwaye Orels none otherlyke But al lyeth in the dyke And loke ye do not faynt But praye to some good saynt That he maye make restraint Of all these straunge farions And great abomynacions Because I maye nor tary I praye to swete syr Harry A man that wyl not vary And one that is no sculker But kan â–ª knyghte of the Sepulchre That he maye stande fast And be not ouer cast Or els to be the last Of all them that do yelde In cyte towne or fielde For yf he styke therin No doubt he shall not blyn Tyll he come to eternytie With all his whole fraternyte Amen therfore saye ye That his partakers be Ye get no more of me Finis