A New Yeares Gifte, dedicated to the Popes Holinesse and all Catholikes addicted to the Sea of Rome: preferred the first day of Ianuarie, in the yeare of our Lorde God, after the course and computation of the Romanistes, one thousand, fiue hundreth, seauentie and nine, by B. G. [i.e. Bernard Garter]... In recompence of diuers singular and inestimable Reliques, of late sent by the said Popes Holinesse into England, the true figures and representations whereof, are heereafter in their places dilated |
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And howe?
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 | A New Yeares Gifte, dedicated to the Popes Holinesse |  |
And howe?
The Monke.
The
heartes of Kings are in the hande of God,
Their rule and powre are lent them by the Lorde:
The Tyrant stout is but his scourge and rod:
The godlie Prince also he doth avorde
Where he doth please: and straightly hath appointed,
No violent hande to touch the Lordes annointed.
Their rule and powre are lent them by the Lorde:
The Tyrant stout is but his scourge and rod:
The godlie Prince also he doth avorde
Where he doth please: and straightly hath appointed,
No violent hande to touch the Lordes annointed.
This Monke forsooth that Symon Swynsted hight,
A Swine in deed, and quite deuoyde of grace,
When that King Iohn had broughte this Realme in plight
From Rebelles rage, to somewhat better cace:
In doubt the King (who in that Abbey lay)
Should touch their state, deuisde this wicked way:
A Swine in deed, and quite deuoyde of grace,
When that King Iohn had broughte this Realme in plight
From Rebelles rage, to somewhat better cace:
In doubt the King (who in that Abbey lay)
Should touch their state, deuisde this wicked way:
I wil (quoth he) vnplace this cruell King,
And ridde hys life, thoughe I do die therefore:
For why (sayth he) it is a worthy thing
For one to die, to saue a number more:
I can but die, and die I will herein,
And kill my selfe, a Martyrs name to win.
And ridde hys life, thoughe I do die therefore:
For why (sayth he) it is a worthy thing
For one to die, to saue a number more:
I can but die, and die I will herein,
And kill my selfe, a Martyrs name to win.
Then goth he to the greasie Abbot straight,
And breakes to him the treason in his thought,
Who weepes for ioy, and nowe concludes the baight,
Whereby (alas) this Regicide is wrought.
The Monke will die to kill his liege and King,
The Abbot eke absolues him of the thing.
And breakes to him the treason in his thought,
Who weepes for ioy, and nowe concludes the baight,
Whereby (alas) this Regicide is wrought.
The Monke will die to kill his liege and King,
The Abbot eke absolues him of the thing.
And thus (absolvde) the Monke and Abbot parte:
Forthwith the Monke doth to a garden go,
And there beginnes experience of his arte:
He takes a Tode, and beats and prickes it so,
As that same Tode, through rigor of the paine,
Casts vp his gorge, wherewith the King is slaine.
Forthwith the Monke doth to a garden go,
And there beginnes experience of his arte:
He takes a Tode, and beats and prickes it so,
As that same Tode, through rigor of the paine,
Casts vp his gorge, wherewith the King is slaine.
The same he puts into a cuppe of wine,
And to the King he commes with smiling cheare,
My Liege (saith he) here is a draft so fine,
As like to it, thou neuer drankest yeare:
I will beginne, accept it at my hande:
This washaile shall be ioyous to thy lande.
And to the King he commes with smiling cheare,
My Liege (saith he) here is a draft so fine,
As like to it, thou neuer drankest yeare:
I will beginne, accept it at my hande:
This washaile shall be ioyous to thy lande.
The Monke therewith did drinke a hartie draught,
And humbly gaue the rest vnto the King,
Who dranke the same, whereby his death he caught:
A wicked deede and lamentable thing,
A miser Monke with smooth and smiling showe
To kil a King, the Lords annointed so.
And humbly gaue the rest vnto the King,
A wicked deede and lamentable thing,
A miser Monke with smooth and smiling showe
To kil a King, the Lords annointed so.
This deadly drinke on either side thus tane,
The Monke vnto the Farmorie doth go,
His guts do swell, his belly breakes in twaine,
A death too good for him that liued so,
To slaye hymselfe, thereby to kill his King,
A traytrous deede, and detestable thing.
The Monke vnto the Farmorie doth go,
His guts do swell, his belly breakes in twaine,
A death too good for him that liued so,
To slaye hymselfe, thereby to kill his King,
A traytrous deede, and detestable thing.
The King also a three dayes after that
Gaue vp his life, to liue with God aboue.
The Abbot and the Monkes whiche ioyed thereat
Concluded then, that for the constant loue
The murdrer bare to them in doing this,
Their Popishe aide should bring his soule to blisse,
Gaue vp his life, to liue with God aboue.
The Abbot and the Monkes whiche ioyed thereat
Concluded then, that for the constant loue
The murdrer bare to them in doing this,
Their Popishe aide should bring his soule to blisse,
And graunted by decree, in Chapter Courte
Three other Monkes continually to sing
For his sweete soule, that did preuent the hurte
Of them and theirs, by poysoning the King:
So as by massing meane the Diuell must misse
The earthly Diuel, whiche durste accomplishe this.
Three other Monkes continually to sing
For his sweete soule, that did preuent the hurte
Of them and theirs, by poysoning the King:
So as by massing meane the Diuell must misse
The earthly Diuel, whiche durste accomplishe this.
Lo, double murder is absolued here:
A Thiefe doth kill himselfe his King to slay:
The holy Monkes herewith not only beare,
But make a meane to take this sinne away.
Thoughe God doth saye full plaine: Thou shalt not kill:
The Pope doth say againe: He did not ill.
A Thiefe doth kill himselfe his King to slay:
The holy Monkes herewith not only beare,
But make a meane to take this sinne away.
Thoughe God doth saye full plaine: Thou shalt not kill:
The Pope doth say againe: He did not ill.
If God and Pope herein not disagree,
Then ayre and earth are both in nature iuste.
But from suche Popes the faithfull flocke are free,
Which in the death of Christ alonely truste.
Triumph oh God, beate backe thy foes againe,
And graunte our Queene long dayes and good to raigne.
Then ayre and earth are both in nature iuste.
But from suche Popes the faithfull flocke are free,
Which in the death of Christ alonely truste.
Triumph oh God, beate backe thy foes againe,
And graunte our Queene long dayes and good to raigne.
Amen.
| A New Yeares Gifte, dedicated to the Popes Holinesse | |