An historicall discourse of ye life and death of Doctor Story whiche was iustly drawen, hanged and quartered for his treson the second of June [by Thomas Knell] |
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 | An historicall discourse of ye life and death of Doctor Story |  |
[Can nature hide & not disclose?]
Can nature hide & not disclose?Can reason ceasse to tel?
can Cuntries care or subiects looue,
Let yein silēce dwel.
Which from the Earth to aery skies,
By tromp of Fame is tost:
And sounded out with blasts of Shame,
Almoste in euery coste?
What monstrous man to nature foe,
What caitiue out of kinde:
What Lasthenes this land brought foorh,
What traitor triple blinde.
When as by natiue birth was borne,
This blood of Balams band:
Iohn Story which with sturdy voice,
Denied his natiue land.
Whom Nature would he best should looue
And yeld for it his breath:
Which he denied with Queene and all,
By treason til his death.
No, no it shall not so be kept,
In silence from the eares:
Of suche as would hear it at large,
My hart is void of feares.
And holow quil through christian zeale,
To Christe to Queene and land:
Shall yeeld out lines of true discource,
That all may vnderstand.
How all his life this Story spent,
In false surmised faith:
As this caracter saith.
A peeuish papist borne he was,
And popish Lawes he learned:
In Popes decrees and all his heastes,
His skil was wel discerned
A Doctor of the Ciuil lawes,
That was his hiest degree,
And all his study was no dout,
The depth therof to see.
And therby wan in mist ye time,
Of popish power suche fame:
To be the Chaunceler of the see,
Of London heer by name.
Before which time how he him self,
behaued is knowen to those,
That saw his spite and rage at suche,
As did the trueth disclose.
And how he did behaue him self.
Til time did chaunge when as:
The toile of popish tirants spite,
As then it came to passe.
When as the Sun of gospel shone,
Their venem to destroy:
And theeuish dale then to reuele,
Bothe vnto lowe and hye.
At which bright glaunce this Storye lept,
With many of his crew,
In prison fast by deue desart,
Which time they gan to rue.
And double visars wore:
To blere the time and blinde the blinde,
As long they did before.
But Story he from prison brake,
And fled beyond the Seaes:
Because he thought t'abide the brunt,
Should smally woork his ease.
And there abode til night approcht,
And closde vp light again:
When as ye Owles and bats came foorth
And whorred in a maine.
This Story of which time is knowen.
If no I would set foorth:
In longer lines the trueth therof,
because it is muche worth.
Among the rest that then appeerd,
A moste excelling rage.
This Doctor Story shewd his face,
As light began t'asswage.
And beeing knowen of hart to be,
Right of Domicians seed:
Of Neros minde for mercy tried,
And apt their woork to speed.
Among the Babilonish rout,
Whiche thursted after blood:
Because his skil in killing Saints,
Might doo them mickel good.
Approouing of his Roomish zeale,
In quenching of their lust:
This Story had the trust.
He was Commissioner admit,
And power he had at wil:
The [illeg.]ily Saints and Lambs of Christe,
By sentence for to kil.
And sure he did his butchers parte,
And swild in blood amain:
From time of his admission,
Through out Queen Maries reign.
Ramping and roring in his rage,
at his deer cuntry men:
Ne high ne low that he might trap,
He spared no man then.
But was the cause of manies death,
No pitty had is hart:
But much triumph with scoffing cheer,
T'encrece his bretherns smart.
Ne man, ne wife, ne yong ne olde,
Ne riche ne, poore he sparde:
Ne graue, ne simple were they then,
That he did ought regard.
But vttred out his roomish spight,
And bloody tiraunts breath:
Eche one professing Iesus Christe,
To bring to bitter death.
But yet at last when God beheeld,
This tirant with the rest:
And saw their spight and how they had,
His silly Church opprest.
For vengeance whiche did crye:
God staid his hand and said inough,
My sily flock to trye.
In midest of Pride and Roomish force,
Also he cut them down:
And spoild those wolues of their sweet pray,
And of their high renowne.
And then among the rest again,
That were in chaunge of time:
Approoued bloody murtherers,
And all defilde with crime.
This Story was from his estate,
Made captiue in the Tower:
And by desart held there a space,
His [illeg.] adorned bower.
To wel I dout not in that cace,
And far vnlike his deed:
Whiche made in irons and in galles,
Gods Lambs to dye for need.
Yet at the last by suttle shift,
He stale and brake away,
And durst not bide in Brittain land,
Because it was cleere day.
Wherin by light his vgly deeds,
So dark would soon be spied:
And partly fearing dreded meed,
Whiche he durst not abide.
Who delt so plainly in his time,
While fortune turnd his wheele:
Was glad to trust his heeles.
And into Flaunders gan him hye,
To Louain to his mates:
Where many a day he led his life,
With sundry great estates.
And grew in fauour with the rout,
Of roomish rebelles there,
Which neither God or natiue Prince,
Doo either loone or feare.
And there he got suche grace and glee,
Among the roomish rout:
That contries looue and Subiects hart,
In him was rooted out.
He quite forgat his natiue soile,
And England whiche him bred,
And his deer Queen heer on this earth,
Next God the supreme hed.
And like a natiue English man,
Nay like a Monster fel.
More currish then that Cerberus,
The tripled Dog of Hel,
Whiche rather chose in forain soile,
To serue a forrain King:
Then heer in his owne natiue land,
To let but nature spring.
He rather chusde to take an oth,
(A corporall othe he said:)
To be a Subiect true to him,
And forain Prince to aid.
And doo his countrie good:
As reason telles and nature bindes,
So mad was he and wood.
His countrie good? nay he deuisde,
All meanes the wise doo knowe:
The publike state of Englands welth,
In haste to ouerthrowe.
And was concert with those concerts,
Of Eleazers sect,
With rebelles and those rulesse rout,
Whiche Sathan did infect,
By whiche he wan suche credit yet,
In forain soil no dout:
Whose worldly wit and tirants hart,
Was tried to be so stout,
That he obtaind and office there,
To many a mans decay:
Which vnto that same common welth,
Were not a slender stay.
And then he shewd him self in kinde,
A Butcher very neat:
And with ful many faithful Saints,
He slily plaied his feat.
Wherby he purchast lofty praise,
And welth to his owne purse:
Though in mean time he purchast sure,
Gods peoples heauy cursse.
Which duly lighted on his pate,
In time as God dooth vse,
And his high name abuse.
As this false Story did no dout,
Who serued that man of Rome,
In sinck of all idolatrie,
I tel but Christes doome.
And as to God he was vniust,
Whiche solde his soule to sin:
So cruelly and wrong to woork,
All times he did not lin.
Ne English men, ne Dutche men he,
Ne French, ne Germain wight:
If Iesus Christ they ought profest,
He put them soon to flight.
And spoild their goods ful many yet,
Doo feele the bitter smart:
He wrought to many a mothers Sonne,
Within that Flaunders parte.
Whose great distresse the Lord heard the
And graunted their request:
And wrought this forain traitor wo,
As he deuisde it best.
To bring him from his forain fort,
The Brittain seaes along:
Whiche had in Antwerp town commit,
Suche iniuries and wrong.
And brought him heer to land amain,
Where he wist not to be:
When famous Countrie was ashamde,
His traitors face to see.
And came to court amain:
Though that his hart in Antwarp stil,
Would there haue been ful fain.
And foorth along the Lord him brought,
From Palaice vnto bower:
Til at the last he lodged his lust,
In top of Lolars tower.
Where he had lodged ful many one,
With pain and bitter greef:
When he in slaughter house was set,
Commissioner with the cheef.
And so from thence he was remooued,
And eke preferd at length:
Unto a place of greater fame,
And of much greater strength.
Unto the Tower where he remaind,
Til suche a day of May:
Where he receiued his due desert,
Enforsed to obay.
Arraind he was a traitor sure,
But there to see his grace,
And how he did behaue him self,
In such a noble place,
All England knowes or may I think,
How stout he was and fel:
Except it had been Lucifer,
That then had scapte from hel.
The wiles and crafts his life to saue,
And when all would not be:
That he could not forsee.
So fearful is it for a man,
to tempt the Lord to ire:
Or for to fall into his hand,
Whose wrath consumes like fire.
For thinking for to saue him self,
He quite denied our Queene:
As though our Brittain land at all,
This wretch had neuer seene.
And quite denied him self to be,
Her Subiect this is true:
For which his Iudgement sentence gaue
Against him to ensue.
And worthely was there condemd,
To hang a traitors hight:
Not for religion in one clause,
But for his treason right.
And thence to Tower was he conuaid,
Til suche a day of Iune.
When as the hangman tempred had,
His instruments in tune,
But ouer night the day before,
He was adiudged to dye:
Lord how Gods ministers with woords,
Of councel did him ply?
Though little forse the culter had,
To grate against a stone:
For sure to say the trueth, of hope
In him at all was none.
The wrath of God ful bent:
And seemd in woords his former life,
To sorow and repent.
But whether it were doon of feare,
Or faith, iudge they the right,
That haue of true repentaunce heard,
And of true faith the might,
For generall his faith was sure,
And for his ciuil race:
He seemd to wail but for to name,
That brougt him to that cace.
He had no minde as many knowe,
Yet was he bound in time.
On herdel thence to go and take,
The merits of his crime.
Through London streets all as he lay,
Fast bound the preachers plied:
To giue him light but he alas,
Could not their woords abide:
But closde his eyes and secretly,
Praied so as he thought best,
Suche praiers as no dout had lurkt,
Long in his popish brest.
At last a godly Preacher said,
Story confesse thy sin:
And vnto Christe appeal for grace,
That he may let thee in.
Confiteor Deo, beatæ mariæ said hee,
Et omnibus sanctis this is true:
Suche frutes doo oft ensue:
Yet after that six Preachers spake,
By turnes as time befel:
Whiche of pure looue did seeke his soule,
In Iesus to doo wel.
Odomine (quod Story then) quot corui,
Circa vnum cadauer?
With many other gibes and scornes,
That came not of true feare.
I knowe what dooth belong (said he)
Unto my soule and helth:
Before the eldst of you were borne,
In any common welth.
Many councels and sweet woords,
He did contemn as vile:
Blaming those men that soght his soule,
To saue from Sathans guile.
And answer made (when any bad,
Him aske at Gods hand grace:
For all his former bloody life,)
Men may suspect your cace:
That are so busy now with me,
Which am with you my foes:
I wil not now dispute with you,
Non hercules quidem (saith he) contraduos
Lord deliuer me (said he) Christe
Rid me from these soone:
That snatch at me on euery side,
Like Dogges, would I had doon.
Where he should end his life:
He was vnlosed from the drail,
Because the prece was rife.
But as he lay those that past by,
Whom he had once tormented:
Forgaue him franckly and with teares,
His heauy losse lamented.
Exhorting him then to be wail,
His former bloody life:
And pray to God by Iesus Christe,
Whose mercy stil is rife.
Then Miserere Psalme he said,
In lattin woords not loud.
And so apace he was conuaid,
To gallows through the croud.
About which execution hil.
On horseback were at hand,
Ful many noble Councellers,
And nobles of this Land.
Then vp in to the cart went he,
As he did wel deserue:
And spake thse woords before the Lords,
(In muche I wil not swarue.
I am come hether said he then,
Standing in cart vpright:
Good people forto suffer death,
Before you all in sight.
As I haue wel deserued ere now,
In all my wicked waies:
Offending all my dayes.
Then said the worthy Earle to him,
Now Story speak thy minde:
And so did maister Yung likewise,
(Your promise so hath signde,)
I wil (said he and patience craue,)
To satisfy you all:
Of diuers points I haue to say,
As God assist me shall.
And first of this my death I say,
If thousand deaths it were:
I haue deserued it, as my hart
Dooth witnes to me bere,
But this same night I had suche help,
And godly councel sure,
As vnto ioy dooth muche my hart,
And silly soule procure.
Considering my former life,
And also the dark dale:
That hath been aye twixt Christe and me
Whiche made my countenaunce pale.
And yester night muche made me feare,
When I did vew my cace,
And all the wickednes I did,
In running of my race.
These three score yeeres and vij. til now,
In whiche I haue doon il:
And sure commit muche wickednes,
I must confesse it stil.
Hath bought me with his blood:
And that the merits of his death,
Story [illeg.] ye Papistes in iust [illeg.] and satisfaction for he ioyfully said there was none othre menes but by Christes death. God grant all ye simple ignorant to say the like of knowledge Story condemneth Purgatory for he said so soon as the soule was out of this bottel the flesh, it is iudged straight.
Shall doo my soule much good
And that makes glad my silly hart,
Beleeuing sure In deed:
So soon as I shall leaue this life,
In heauen to be with speed.
And I am glad that now by these,
Torments I shall sustain:
I shalbe rid for euer more,
From dolor greef and pain.
That eke my soule shalbe at rest,
By Christes satisfaction:
And suffer no pain after this,
But be in his protection.
As Dauid saith, though pain a whils
Appeer in Euening tide:
Yet in the morne shall ioy appeer,
No dout at euery side.
And that dooth make me cantare canticum
in this nocte tribulationis:
Because that after this my life,
None other torment is.
And now of iudgement ye I haue,
A trueth I wil declare:
Euen as in heauen hie to rest,
My self I doo prepare.
I dare not thinck my iudgement wrong,
Muche lesse I dare not say:
By any kinde of way:
And then he purgd him self at large,
Of many douts, whiche I
Omit committing that to them,
That heard it standing by,
Then he declaerd the cause he stake,
To this his death so fast:
Unto his forain othe he made,
As many woords him past.
But breefly thus he said an oth,
To Philip King of Spain,
I corporally did take, when I
Was Student at Louain
Of which scoole I a member am,
The King hath sworn eke sure
A corporall oth them to maintain,
and their defence procure.
Which so much more emboldened me,
Of conscience for to speake:
Not seeing how I might or could,
Myne othe to him once breake.
And heer appeerd his brutish fact,
To swere against this land:
To which by nature he is bound
For life to fight and stand.
For no man may for any cause,
A vow or couenant make,
Against his countrie in that cace,
No man an othe may take.
But then he spake thus muche:
It this my death good people heer,
I nought at all doo grutch.
Or yet at those that me betraied,
I knowe twas Gods decree:
That he might heer out of for all,
All sin and vice in me.
I doo forgiue them from my hart,
and pray for them wil I:
As charitie compelles my minde,
So loong as til I dye.
Now for to satisfy you heer,
Which looke to hear the same:
I'le speak the trueth in conscience,
As neer as hart can frame.
I am a member of the Church,
The Church catholike I:
Which by vniuersaliti, antiquitie & consent
Is knowen none can deny.
God knowes and men ye heard may iudge
If Christes Church he ment:
Or els the Churche of Rome, his woords
Were double in assent.
But sith (said he) ful many look,
I should them satisfy:
In woords for that I am suspect,
Of wonders crueltye.
Trueth is I was commissioner then,
But yet the last and least:
But by consent of the rest.
I chid in deed the ruder sorte,
When they came me before:
But sure I bit them not at all,
My woords were onely sore.
I oft perswaded them to turn,
When they accused were:
Of that same heresie which law,
Then might in no wise bere.
About the reall presence which
I then held and doo still:
But oft the Bishop I entiste,
By me to rule his wil.
To burn no more in London heer,
But ceasse from shedding blood.
For sure I saw that burning them,
Did vs at all no good.
And therin sure he said but trueth,
For Christians dayly growe:
As tiraunts kil and toile them selues,
The Martirs blood to sowe.
But heer was cloking of his faults,
For sure he chid and bit:
Yea he bit sore when he had power,
His acts are liuing yet.
His woords to Richard wood wil tel,
His woords nay twas his deeds:
Which sought in rage to shed his blood.
And that with cruel speed.
His cruell wil did trye,
And how by wilful spite he sought,
Their fleshes all to fry.
Good maister deniy his death wil tel,
What crueltie he shewed:
Which to denie at his last breth,
Did proue his minde but lewd.
And lastly (said he) to set foorth,
My faith to yung and olde:
I'le tel the trueth before the Lord,
What faith I now doo holde.
And that I say as Ierom said.
cam tenebo fidem vsque ad mortem:
In qua natus fuerim,
To death ile holde that faith.
In whiche I first was borne in deed,
As conscience bindes me straight:
Whiche faith in the catholike Church,
I'le holde vntil I dye:
And this as holy Ierom said,
Good people so say I.
And heer in all men may discern,
What faith he ment at last:
Namely he died a papist blinde,
as all his life was past:
For borne he was in Papistrie,
And liued a Papists life,
at first he is at strife.
And finally a man may say.
He stood of no sure ground,
His former large confession:
Now seemeth but a sound.
The Lord graunt me to holde that saith,
That Gods woord shall me learne:
By hearing and beleeuing it,
Christe I may wel discerne,
This doon the Earle of Bedford, spake
Ful nobly to him tho:
Story doost dye a subiect? (speak,)
To our good Queene or no?
Speak art thou not her subiect? say,
With that he spake again:
To that catholike King I am,
A Subiect this is plain.
Than spake an other noble man,
Ask mercy at her hand:
I'le pray for her that she a Queen
An hundred yeeres may stand.
But art thou not her subiect? speak,
Th'art borne in this her land.
I am (said he with other woords)
Which fooles haue double scand.
Then said a Preacher to him, speak,
A Protestant doost dye?
Or dyest a Papist let vs knowe,
He said I know not I.
in catholike beleef:
And so In Manus he cried out,
His praiers were but breef.
The cart went foorth and hang he did,
And cut down straight again:
And hauing life restorde he felt,
a sharp and bitter pain.
Like Adonibizeke for smart:
For when the knife did prick:
He rose & clicht his fist in wrath,
Ful minded for to strike.
And stroue and caught with foot & hand,
And cried, but spake no iote.
Til as the knife vnlousd his corps,
From nauel to the throte.
A fearful end he bad God graunt,
all Papists to beware:
And make them to see in time and space,
Before what God they are.
And God saue Queene Elizabeth,
and sharpen yet her swoord,
To cut down all that her dispise,
Deriding Gods true woord.
Amen.
FINIS
Tho. Knel. Iu.
| An historicall discourse of ye life and death of Doctor Story | |