neuer wanted sutes at wil it to maintain He lacked neuer cators he his ayds took alwayes pain To kéep their God their hope their trust their staffe of Roomishe stay Because with him they wisht a chaunge stil looking for a day ¶ And not with him but with the rest of all their hellishe rable Whiche are in their blinde errors stil moste hard and wilful 〈◊〉 ¶ Who pris'ners are as foes to Christe to Christian Quéen and land But chéef this quondam which made boste if he might haue in hand ¶ His former poure and time again to blesse and curse at wil Where one he burnt on thousands then he would his lust fulfil ¶ This was his boste and blooddy thirst wherin his ayds did trust That once again the Roomishe whore might haue her filthy lust ¶ Although since he by due desert hath béen in holde for sin Suche mercy hath béen shew'd him there as he shew'd none I win To suche as were his betters far in knoweledge birth and 〈◊〉 Yea and in life Apostolique of muche more godly name For sure his manners were moste 〈◊〉 at all times plainly shew'd Why wa' st not he that sought the trée of our increace 〈◊〉 hew'd Who shamelesly hath stand thus long at royall mercyes grace Although his déeds and woords ful 〈◊〉 did craue another place But what said those of Balams 〈◊〉 there is no law wherby The swoord of Iustice could him strike nor cause why he should die Although when as the Dragon rulde right woorthy wightê were slain But one when cannon law could not he was adiudged pain Without the Cannons councels he that Pool might haue his place By Popes assent and Roomishe rout whiche ror'd him to deface Yf Popes assent when Englishe lawes nor Cannons cuold preuail Might giltles make so wise a sage by fiery flames to quail Why might not Princes lawful power haue made a iust decrie That suche deseruing open shame might recompensed be But onely that pure mercy did kéep back that right did craue In recompensing him with death as all the rest might haue Yet he tryumpht as whole and sound his purpose whole to make Right many yet if time would serue to bring vnto the stake And once again if fortune stood he might haue vp the Masse But sée how now the Lord of hostes hath made his foe like grasse Who bragd and boasted in his greace to washe the tile anew And 〈◊〉 an end to his deuise whiche yet he neuer knew And so the rest with chéerful sound at eu'ry newes that came Sang as the Prouerb olde hath béen Laudes ante victoriam Sith monst'rous corps with delicates so monst'rously was blowen Whose monst'rous minde with poys'ning woords in graue is ouerthrowen But what did he repent of all his blooddy sinful race And learn by Gods woord to amend his life so voyd of grace Nay sure til time of present death he chaunged not his minde But as he liu'd a foe to Christe so dyed moste wilful blinde Oh yet though he had liu'd so il Gods mercy is not bace To suche as think that Ihesus Christe can all their sinnes deface But as this Eresichthon liu'd in spite and rage to spoil So in his end of mightie Ioue he took a deadly foil Not that he died but that in death his helth he did deniet For sure non mori turpé est sed turpiter mori And yet though Exesichthons end hapt not vnto this foe To eat his fleshe sith Boners mates in stie did fat him so Yet viler end had he no dout Then Eresichthons was Because their times were far vnlike as it did come to passe The one a Christian was in name the other Pagan prowd Yet in there acts of maners like as may bée wel avowd Hée Ceres sought this Thesus Christe and his to bring to wrack He did starue this with grease died though grace from him went back Wherby all suche as blinded were by fau'ring of his actê May sée what iudgement is preparde to recompence their factê And therfore houle all Balams séed and wéep bothe moste and least Whiche bear the mark in suche a 〈◊〉 of that il fau'red beast But Englishe hartê whiche loue Gods 〈◊〉 our Quéen Englishe land Reioyce sith hope of foes is 〈◊〉 by force of Gods right hand Sith filthy fleshe dooth lie in graue though soule I 〈◊〉 be il Whiche liu'd and died so stout a foe to Christes death and wil. But what though blooddy corps of his be forste to lie ful lowe His blooddy factê and déeds moste vile from hence shall no man knowe Shall treason so conspir'd shall pride shall blasphemy lie dead No fame from earth to vpper skies his wickednes shall spread His brutishe tigrishe toil in time of his moste high renown T' extoll the power and pomp of him that weres the triple crown His rage and currishe cruel spite against his cuntrie men His butcherly deuice to waste the fleshe of Christians then His false surmise and murdring spite whiche shew'd him then to be A Poliphemus right whiche flue in thrée yéeres hundreds thrée Not of Vlisses souldiours sure but Christians truly tride Whiche were deuoured while he 〈◊〉 the Ruther for to guide Shall now Philonides lie dead shall Serpentinishe rage So sléep Nay sure his wickednes shall liue the worldes age His stoutnes shall remain 〈◊〉 shewd in time of his conflict Who as a subiect did deny to haue his hart adict And as a foe to Christe his woord and to our gratious Quèen Wisht with his mates moste trat'rofluy some others raign I wéen Beside his 〈◊〉 life before and in this cace Though corps be dead yet death cannot these horrours quite deface He suffred was ful ten yéers space by fauour him to win As Gospels nature is yet he could neuer once begin For to repent though fauour he deserued had but small At those whiche now in his distresse did shew him moste of all ¶ But 〈◊〉 and mocked those as yet whiche gladly would him teache But chéefly in his death suche men as Gospel soundly preache And therfore sith in life of his no vertue was to praise In welth newo no spark of grace whiche liu'd and spent his dayes So like a Cyclops in his den deseruing no good fame Sith God hath cut of suche a Drone can we but praise his name And eke beséeche th'almigtie Ioue the number to fulfil In cutting of the rest with spéed that hear the beast good wil. Who sure may shame at his vile race but more at his 〈◊〉 end And sore lament his fearful state whiche now did not amend Though all his life he had béen bent yet now to stand so stout Denying Christe at his last breath Is fearful out of dout This may 〈◊〉 as God hath lent me grace to rule my pen In blasing foorth the déeds and fame before all Christian men Of Romaines greasy God whose life and death so woorthy
meus MY spirit God wotte is feble 〈◊〉 and sore and so shall wee Papistes daiely more and more Our tyme of Papistrie shal be shorte foolishe and vaine Ab aquilone panditur omne malum the Papistes tooke paine Nowe Mars our bloudie Boner is laied in yearth full colde Whose life and libertie would haue made vs bolde With bloudie handes and cruell hartes was our desire To haue burned the Protestantes with hote flamyng fire Set vp shorne crounes the stewes and Mon kes in bootes And destroied Christes doctrine cleane by the rootes Brought in Idols Latin seruice and ryngyng of belles 〈◊〉 Chauntries Masses Abbaies and Celles Thus we would haue dooen in Tindall and Comberlande And brought Romishe seruice againe into Northumberlande There are a remnaunt left I maie them 〈◊〉 The children of Antichrist and of God Ball. Rumor super rumorem while the storme do last Antichrist and his are now at the laste caste And Boner is rotten and stinketh in graue Well rid is Christes flocke of so Woluishe 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Si veritatem dico quare non creditis michi ¶ The Responde Dies eius breuiabuntur Boner was a greate hunter Per ignem with fire hotte N unc in putredine God wotte Ubi est ergo nunc Either Frier Nonne or Monke That can for a little space Put hym a purgyng place Now good man sir Pope What doe your worship hope In inferno nulla est redemptio ¶ The eight lesson 〈◊〉 it Pelle mei consumptus MY fleshe is consumed there is 〈◊〉 skinne and bone In sainct Georges Churche yarde my graue and I alone My tongue that vsed lewde woordes and lippes awaie are rotten Take pitie vpon me R. L. and H. let me not be forgotten Regester me in with a 〈◊〉 penne 〈◊〉 the Romishe roules And make some Obsequi for my sake I 〈◊〉 it were in Poules Saie Dirige for me gentle T. H. U. R. L. and B. Saie you the Masse mourne you in blacke W. F. and C. Ryng you the belles holde you the lightes A. P. S. and N. A. B. the Crosrowe of Papistes shewe 〈◊〉 selues like men For if your merites doe not helpe then come I verie late Like the foolishe virgines fiue whiche knocked at the gate To whom he saied I knowe you not depart from my sight You wanted faithe and watched not when I came in the night Let liuyng wightes watche therfore though it be paine and griefe For sodainly the Lorde dooe come 〈◊〉 like to a 〈◊〉 O Boner Boner ones againe in thy skynne thou shalt be clad And haue suche members in degree as in this life thou had Then shalt thou see the 〈◊〉 all in iudgement stande vpright Whom in this worlde thou didest abuse with murder and with spight And called them vnlearned all and nowe in greate honor Suche was the blindnes of Papistes hartes and specially of thee Boner ¶ The Responde Uaine vaine vaine vaine All bloudie Papistes doe liue in vaine There is no meane but heauen and hell In doyng euill and workyng well Eche soule shall go vnto his place The brande of hell and childe of grace Scimus quia transit hora Redeamus sine mora Uitam nostram emendamus The 〈◊〉 of death drawyng on a 〈◊〉 Praie for mercie ioye and grace V ade non amplius peccare ¶ The nineth lesson Quarede vulua S. rede it ALas from my mothers wombe why hast thou brought me out I haue liued like a Butchers 〈◊〉 and died like a 〈◊〉 I stopped myne eares against the truthe Gods worde I would not heare And hardened my harte against the Prince in persone many a yere There ledde my life in hartes delite my soule did feele no care In softe bedde and choise of wine wantyng no daintie fare False hope I had to come forthe as ones I did before But still dispaire said I should die and persecute no more One morne betime I loked forth as ofte as I did before And did 〈◊〉 a pulpit in churches wise made by my prison dore A Preacher there was that Crowlye hight whiche preached in that place A meane if God had loued me to call me then to grace Hodie si vocem was his theme and harden not thyne harte As did the fathers the rebelles old that perished in desarte Thus protestantes haue me flain with the power of the worde But if the worlde had serued me with fire and with sworde I would haue killed and burned al more then I did before But now farewel you papistes al from hensforthe euermore Would no wight had me knowen nor eyes me neuer seen Then should I haue been in suche forte as I had neuer been The Responde In die illa tremenda Who shall my lorde defenda Neither Pe. Wes Nor. Mar. Traitors Tempest that blowe vp warre Slinge Hil. nor Swineburne Or any traitor that gape for a tourne Thei shall haue horror inhabitans God sende them mischaunce Omne regnum diuisum c. Against the Quene thei risum Per aliam viam reuersi sunt Papistes are traitours as thei are 〈◊〉 Rumor super rumorem erit Betwene Doncaster and Perith Be many Popishe hartes Would their heddes wer in carts And their bodies in graues Rebelles are theues and knaues Ardiet pugnas vicio parentum The rebelles beyonde Trentham Shall quickly repentham Sepuichrum paten est venter eorum Thei abhorre doctrina Apostolorum Sepe expugnauerūt you know it wel Northren stormes are sharp fell Snowe Haile Ise and Froste All their hope is but loste Dies magnae amara Thei are now in sorow and 〈◊〉 Thei will neuer haue suche honor As had this bastarde E. Boner Although he were a Po. k. Yet buried he was in a graue Pluet super proditores laquios ¶ Th e'nde of Boners Dirige Per ironiam Erat vir ille simplex rectus ac timens deum recaedens amalo ¶ Here after dooe followe a liniall Pedegres of Boners kinred by the minde and iudgemente of many Doc. a man of a greate house long before the captiuitie of Babilon ¶ Bastarde Edmonde Sauage beyng a 〈◊〉 lubberly scholer was supposed to be the the soonne of one Boner Which was the sōne of a Iugler or wild roge Whiche was the sonne of a villaine ingrosse Whiche was the sonne of a Cutpurse Whiche was the sonne of a Tom of Bedlam Whiche was the sonne of a 〈◊〉 of a spitle Whiche was the sonne of a theffe or a 〈◊〉 Whiche was the sonne of a wilde Irishe whiche was the sōne of a Stoick Philosopher whiche was the sonne of Agarion whiche was tho sonne of a 〈◊〉 whiche was the sonne of a Sectuarie whiche was the sonne of Appelles whiche was the sonne of 〈◊〉 whiche was the sonne of Alogy whiche was the sonne of Almerichus whiche was the sonne of Aetius whiche was the sonne of Adamiani whiche was the sonne of Alepheli whiche was the sonne of Appolinaris whiche was the sonne of Ammonus whiche was the sonne of Aquarij whiche was the
An Epitaph or rather a short discourse made vpon the life death of D. Boner sometimes vnworthy Bisshop of London whiche dyed the v. of September in the Marshallie ¶ Imprinted at London at the long Shop adioyning vnto S Mildreds Church in the Pultrie by Iohn Alide An. do 1569. Sep. 14. ¶ An Epitaph vpon the life and death of D. Bonner who died the v. of September 1569. Quam cito de viuis extirpabuntur iniqui Fidentum domino pars bonafortis erit Per breue teÌ„pus adhuc et non erit impiê° vltra Quaeretur nec erit quo fuit ante loco HOw soon are wicked men cut of from suche as liue in fame Yet is the Lord the postion good of those that loue his name ¶ A little while as yet therfore and there shall not remain One wicked man hence foorth to be of all the wicked train ¶ The wicked man shall then be sought but he shall not finde grace There to be found where he before was knowne to haue a place ¶ And therfore ioy all Englishe hartê that fear the Lord aright And haue the loue of natiue land alwayes before your sight Lift vp your hartê reioyce in him for woork of his owne hand For I of happy tidings mean to let you vnderstand ¶ Whiche chéerful wilhe sure to all of faithful Englishe blood Whose hartê did neuer hate the truthe nor Gospel yet with stood ¶ A man there was a quondam great of might of pomp and praise Of Englishe blood though Englishe loue were small in all his wayes ¶ As did appéer by Roomishe actê procéeding from his hight Which proou'de him not an Englishman but sure a Romain right ¶ For neuer faithful Englishe hart was foe to natiue soil Yet hée in natiue land did séek Christê faithful flock to spoil ¶ And also then he wrought muche 〈◊〉 to Englands chéefest stayes He spilt their blood and mockt Gods woord wherby his gaue him praise ¶ Seducing men from sacred truthe to walke in Roomishe trade Wherby this land was ransackt so so spoild and so bare made ¶ That many yet doo féel the smart of that vnhappy time Though God haue cleÌ„sed now these partê from suche moste vgly crime ¶ Wherwith this land infected was by Balams brood throughout Who sought a mischéef huge and great as then to bring about ¶ And more then so renereace by blood the great and pining lack Of pastors pure and pillers stroÌ„ng whiche then were brought to wrack ¶ Without remorse his niaces and he ful sore did them torment By séeking of their death and losse whiche lou'd Christê testament ¶ And more then so of woorthy wightê of whom bereft are wée Whiche left their welth their ease life that Christe might gayned bée ¶ And yet not so this Cyrus left muche humam blood to spil And so ceace his deuouring rage and moste blasphemous wil. ¶ But more and more he sought outrage as all his mates were bent By lies and tales and popishe toyes Gods gospel to preuent ¶ As one in place by Sathan sent Gods instrument of ire To daunt the pride of England then whiche did it muche require And so no dout this Boner did he spared no degrée Ne wise ne graue ne riche ne poor he pitied no man hée ¶ Ne lame ne blinde suche was his thirst ne fooles ne wise in name Yea * nobles blood as 〈◊〉 triue he sought to bring to flame ¶ When pastors roum Bishops 〈◊〉 of London Sée he had As beautie then of all his dayes a Woolf in Lamb skinne clad ¶ His rage 〈◊〉 the seat with crime that nations far could say A drunken man dooth take in hand to guide the ship her way Not drunk with wine tho iudgement might declare he loou'd it more Then Christes pasture shéep 〈◊〉 he should haue set great store ¶ But bloody drunk sith hée not one did spare of Christes shéep Whiche did desire their conscience pure by Gospel for to kéep Yet he did watche though as a Woolf Christê lambs for to deuoure He watched not to féed their soules nor yet to preache one houre For sure though he had Bishops rowm Paul saith he was vnfit In suche a place of Christes flock at any time to sit Whose iudgement was so small weak in Christes testament And learning lesse to teache the flock with that so slowe intent ¶ Should 〈◊〉 obtain of grace 〈◊〉 now for to haue a praise Whose retcheles rage and swinishe life shall 〈◊〉 in all mens dayes ¶ His knoweledge was to base no dout to sit in Bishops seat Though he perhaps in Popes decrées through trauail might be great ¶ And Ciuile law right prompt he knew though all for priuate gain And Cannons to for therin was his onely studeous pain ¶ And all but to vpholde the pride of Rome whiche was to il Or els to finde away how he Gods childrens blood might spil ¶ But who can boste in Gods decrées of Bonners knoweledge now In Scriptures force his answers shewd him learned as a Cow Or as an Asse whiche iudgement lacks in sence of holy writ Though he obtaind a bitter space in Bishops seat to sit ¶ Sus taught Mineruam there to long whiche held vsurped place Til Christe by force of Gospel truthe this Bufo did displace ¶ And took the Asse from his repast of playing on the harp Whole horned pawes in harmony made neither flat nor sharp ¶ But spilt the sound so long a time when mischéef reignd at wil Til Pallas came who took the Asse down from Parnassus hil And tied him vp at maunger yet whiche once did there remain Though there he felt not his desertê nor halfe deserued pain ¶ To lodge on boords as he had made some other lodge before With hands and féet to starue in stocks with giues to be ful sore ¶ No no in 〈◊〉 his tormentê were none suche nor half so vile He 〈◊〉 hath béen sure but yet not tasted all this while Of 〈◊〉 thrall of hungers bit in dungeon déep to grone Yet he of 〈◊〉 life ful oft to many made his mone Not sure for pain whiche he did féel but for the greatest gréef That he could not be fed as yet in slaughter who was chéef With blood of Saintê and christian fleshe wherwith his lust was fed That he could not exalt the Pope stil héer as supreme hed That he could not his holy Lambes and leaden Bulles bestowe His Pardons and his obsequies mens soules to ouer throwe ¶ That truthe had ouer throwen with power his brutishe 〈◊〉 intent Whiche thought by fire fagots force Gods Gospel to preuent ¶ This wrought his onely gréef and wo as wel it did appéer For other cause sure there was none that euer I could hear ¶ He lay ful soft and had inough of Beer and chaunge of wine Bothe fleshe and fishe bothe fruitê foul moste delicate and fine His table