A Commemoration or Dirige of Bastarde Edmonde Boner, alias Sauage, usurped Bisshoppe of London Compiled by Lemeke Avale |
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 | A Commemoration or Dirige of Bastarde Edmonde Boner, alias Sauage, usurped Bisshoppe of London |  |
A Commemoration
Boner speaketh.
My soule haue cleaued fast to the grounde,
I haue fed like a swine, and liued like a hoūde
My thought it did me muche good,
In broilyng the christians, and shedyng blood
I haue fed like a swine, and liued like a hoūde
My thought it did me muche good,
In broilyng the christians, and shedyng blood
I haue shewed my waies, I haue shewed my waies
How well I loued the Romishe kaies
The reliques of Rome were my delight,
I was a maiden priest, and our ladies knight.
How well I loued the Romishe kaies
The reliques of Rome were my delight,
I was a maiden priest, and our ladies knight.
Iustification I could not abide,
Specially if it came on Christes side:
I will clime heauen walles with Scala cœli,
And followe Alkoc, quondam bishop of Elie.
Specially if it came on Christes side:
I will clime heauen walles with Scala cœli,
And followe Alkoc, quondam bishop of Elie.
My soule now slepe in dreames and greues
My corps is buried emong false theues:
For my bodie and soule, th' apointed place,
Abusyng mercie, and refusyng grace.
My corps is buried emong false theues:
For my bodie and soule, th' apointed place,
Abusyng mercie, and refusyng grace.
The waie of wickednes, I loued well,
In missyng of Purgatorie, perhaps to hell:
I beshrowe Dorbell, and Dunses harte,
Would I had been no bishop, but gon to carte.
In missyng of Purgatorie, perhaps to hell:
I beshrowe Dorbell, and Dunses harte,
Would I had been no bishop, but gon to carte.
The waie of truthe, I did once take,
Whiche of malice, I did forsake:
And neuer since I did repente,
In despisyng the eternall testamente.
Whiche of malice, I did forsake:
And neuer since I did repente,
In despisyng the eternall testamente.
I did sticke ones vnto Goddes lawes,
But to forsake it, I had no cause:
And hardned my harte, & stopped mine eares
And could not wepe repentant teares.
But to forsake it, I had no cause:
And hardned my harte, & stopped mine eares
The waie of thy cōmaundmēt I might not bide
After that I was drunke with ye cup of pride,
But waxed lothly, foule, and fatte,
Like to cardinall Wolsey, with his red hatte.
After that I was drunke with ye cup of pride,
But waxed lothly, foule, and fatte,
Like to cardinall Wolsey, with his red hatte.
Boner ende.
Deus stetit in Synagoga deorum.
His lordship would plaie the Iustice of Corum
In the place of iudgement, it did hym good,
To accuse the martyres, and shed their blood.
His lordship would plaie the Iustice of Corum
In the place of iudgement, it did hym good,
To accuse the martyres, and shed their blood.
O Clemens.
There is no man within the citie,Professyng Christes Gospell, that he would pitie
Muche mischief this verlet, did begin
Therefore his praier is tourned to synne.
O Pia.
He had a cancred proude looke,With bell and candell, and Popishe booke:
In cursyng Gods people with hellishe grace,
Awaie graundpanche, with thy greasie face.
O Crux.
Now a peece of your Dirige I will begin,I care not whether, I lose or winne:
You were no greate state of honor,
A bastarde, no bishop, but bloudie Boner.
Wryngyng of their handes, thei began with Placebo.
Dilexi quoth master Papist, I loued well Boner,
That was boshoppe of London, and liued in greate honor.
Quia inclinauit aurem suam, to our good father the Pope,
Iam iacit ille cinis, alas gone is our hope.
Circumdederunt eum dolores mortis, now rotten in graue,
Well, well, said the protestat well rid of a.k.
Perhaps cū pericula inferni with Chymerus fell,
Or Cerborus the triple hedded dogge of hell.
Tribulationem & dolorem inuenit, that bastarde theefe.
That haue spoiled Christes flocke, with spite and greefe.
O domine libera animam meam, from this Basan Bull,
That the innocent lambes did teare and pull.
Custodiens paruulos dominus, the Lorde hath helped Sion:
And taken awaie this mad dogge, this wolfe, and this Lion.
Qui erupit animam de morte, and my hart from sorowe,
Lorde surely, thou hast giuē thē eternall rest,
Whom Boner in prison, moste sore opprest.
Placebo: Bo. Bo. Bo. Bo. Bo.
Heu me, beware the bugge, out quod Boner alas,
De profundis clamaui, how is this matter come to passe.
Læuaui oculos meos, from a darke depe place.
Now Lazarus helpe Diues, with one droppe of grace.
Ne quando rapiat vt Leo animam meam, druggarde, druggarde,
To defende this matter, came Ihon Auaile, and Miles Huggarde.
From the gates of hell, quod the rebelles, dedefende B. Boner,
That with S. Fissher and Becket, he maie haue honor.
Amen quod R.C.B.H. and L.
Deliuer hym from this paines of hell.
R. Doe beginne the first lesson.
Parce michi domine.
Spare
vs oh swete lord, our daies are all gone,
Our holie father deare Boner, hath left vs alone.
Now enclosed in tombe, wrapte in yearth and claie,
Ecce nunc in puluere dormit, doo rot & fade awaie
We hoped that he should haue doen, as he did before,
Come forthe of prison ones againe, and burned more and more.
Who shall trust temporall powers, in whom is no healthe,
Farewell our spirituall father deare, our cōforte and wealthe.
Now helpe, Dominicke, Becket, Dunston, and sainct Line,
Gregorie with thy Trentals, Antonye with thy swine.
This father was heauenly mynded, and neuer carnall,
Therefore defende hym from the flames infernall.
Responde.
Our holie father deare Boner, hath left vs alone.
Now enclosed in tombe, wrapte in yearth and claie,
We hoped that he should haue doen, as he did before,
Come forthe of prison ones againe, and burned more and more.
Who shall trust temporall powers, in whom is no healthe,
Farewell our spirituall father deare, our cōforte and wealthe.
Now helpe, Dominicke, Becket, Dunston, and sainct Line,
Gregorie with thy Trentals, Antonye with thy swine.
This father was heauenly mynded, and neuer carnall,
Therefore defende hym from the flames infernall.
Praie for Boner B. and D. soules,
You that walke in the Popishe ilde of Poles
Ye praie for them, and thinke no skorne,
The like of Boner was neuer borne.
Boner.
Et in carne mea videbo, the bones that I haue burned.
And also Iesus Christe, against whom I haue sporned.
Posuisti me tibi contrarium, heu me, greate paine.
I crie to man, childe, and wife,
I abhorred muche the booke of life:
And loued moste the Popes lawes,
And regarded not Christ twoo strawes,
Ue miserum michi therefore,
Sainct Peter haue locked the dore,
And bidde me go the wrong waie,
Bicause I had not the right waie.
I will make an other shifte,
Seyng I am driuen to this drifte,
Now helpe holy father the Pope,
With skalyng ladder and rope:
Chaunce what chaunce maie fall,
Now will I scale heauen wall.
L. Doe rede the seconde lesson.
Tedet animam meam.
Oh
his soule was wearie here, in the life that he had,
His foode was breade and water, his lodgyng was to badde.
Clothed in heere, slepyng againste the harde stones,
That through fastyng, his skinne claue to the bones.
Watchyng in praier, lamentyng bothe daie and night:
Subduyng fleshlie affection, and walked in the spirite,
Meeke in mynde as a Wolfe, and simple as a Foxe:
As chaste as the he Goate, as slender as the Oxe.
As liberall as the she Beare, as swete as the Brocke,
Of all kinde of linnen clothe, he loued well a smocke.
As wholesome as a madde Dogge, as cleanly as a Bore,
He loued well a fatte Pigge, so he did a h.
Paale as the Turkie Cocke, as gentle as a Snake.
The like is not in all helle, if you seeke hym with a rake.
Responde.
His foode was breade and water, his lodgyng was to badde.
Clothed in heere, slepyng againste the harde stones,
That through fastyng, his skinne claue to the bones.
Watchyng in praier, lamentyng bothe daie and night:
Meeke in mynde as a Wolfe, and simple as a Foxe:
As chaste as the he Goate, as slender as the Oxe.
As liberall as the she Beare, as swete as the Brocke,
Of all kinde of linnen clothe, he loued well a smocke.
As wholesome as a madde Dogge, as cleanly as a Bore,
He loued well a fatte Pigge, so he did a h.
Paale as the Turkie Cocke, as gentle as a Snake.
The like is not in all helle, if you seeke hym with a rake.
Speake you of Boner?
God saue his honor,
Some saied thei heard hym saie,
In bedde as he laie,
Noli me condemnare,
Dum veneris iudicare,
Ante te erubesco,
Comissa mea pauesco.
Farewell, farewell, you Popishe k.
Te decet deus hymnus in Syon,
Boner was as cruell as a Lion:
For if he had liued, and the worlde tourned,
Many a good man, he would haue burned.
Per ignem with fire,
That was his desire.
T. The thirde lesson.
Manus tue dn̄e fecerunt me.
The
hande of God framed hym ones in goodlie shape,
Then transformed like a Boore, and conditioned like an Ape:
From a Bishoppe to a Butcher, moste bloudie of kinde.
Whiche often in Bastardes, the like you maie finde:
There is a greate decree made by C. the pope
That no Bastarde should weare staffe, miter or Cope:
Neither hath any dignitie, vnder a Cathedrall steple,
Bicause he is fatherlesse, and the sonne of the people:
Abraham left inheritance, to Isaac his sonne by right:
To his bastardes he gaue giftes, and put thē from his sight.
So if bastardes bee vnworthie of Temporall inheritaunce,
Muche lesse in Christes Churche, to haue any preheminence:
This Boner was a bastarde, of bloudde and condition,
And departed frō this life, without contritiō.
Responde.
Then transformed like a Boore, and conditioned like an Ape:
From a Bishoppe to a Butcher, moste bloudie of kinde.
Whiche often in Bastardes, the like you maie finde:
There is a greate decree made by C. the pope
That no Bastarde should weare staffe, miter or Cope:
Neither hath any dignitie, vnder a Cathedrall steple,
Bicause he is fatherlesse, and the sonne of the people:
Abraham left inheritance, to Isaac his sonne by right:
So if bastardes bee vnworthie of Temporall inheritaunce,
Muche lesse in Christes Churche, to haue any preheminence:
This Boner was a bastarde, of bloudde and condition,
And departed frō this life, without contritiō.
Lorde how he would pullam,
When he was at Fullam,
With fire, rodds, and chaines
He put them to paines,
And that was well seen,
By M. and Bartlet green.
O Lorde I praie thee in what place
Shall bloudie E. Boner, past al grace
Hide his greasie blocke hedde,
Whē he shall iudge the quick & dedde.
Quid hoc rei est?
Mary he shall rise like a beast,
Emong the Romishe pied coates,
On the lefte hande emong the goates
He would not praie,
Nor saie Mattens that daie,
But swell and pante,
But redde wine and a Pigge,
Would make him lepe & frig
And saie diligo vxores vestras,
Ab ortu solis ad vesperas.
The fowerth lesson.
Quantis habuit iniquitas.
Howe
sore was this bloudie beaste, fraught with synne,
So fatte was his fleshe, scante holde would the skinne.
Incrassatus, impiguatus, dilatatus, Symoniacus,
Grosse, fat, and puffed vp with a great patus,
Sacrificium deo nostro, cor contritum
Tu autem argenteos lebetes, was thy delitum,
Cur faciā tua abscōdisti like an oule in the night
Refusing the blessed Gospel the word of light
Thy cursed actes, in parchmēt shalbe inrolde,
Against God & thy prince, thou wert to bolde
Thy bloudie crimes shall bee in mynde, now thou art gone and paste,
Thou shalte make a dreadfull compt to God, for them at the laste.
Responde.
So fatte was his fleshe, scante holde would the skinne.
Incrassatus, impiguatus, dilatatus, Symoniacus,
Grosse, fat, and puffed vp with a great patus,
Sacrificium deo nostro, cor contritum
Tu autem argenteos lebetes, was thy delitum,
Cur faciā tua abscōdisti like an oule in the night
Refusing the blessed Gospel the word of light
Thy cursed actes, in parchmēt shalbe inrolde,
Against God & thy prince, thou wert to bolde
Thy bloudie crimes shall bee in mynde, now thou art gone and paste,
Thou shalte make a dreadfull compt to God, for them at the laste.
Iam fetet, quia putrifactus est,
But in his cole house, he gaue no meate
But in Smithfield moste cruell heate,
Now death his power doe inuade,
Like rotten donge, his fleshe doe fade,
I doe not quarell,
His guttes filled a barrell.
Alas quod the Papistes and well awaie,
He was buried in the night, not in the daie,
Where were the Papistes that hower?
Some in the Flete, some in the Tower,
And many paste all grace,
Be in euery Popishe place,
God sende them suche honor,
As hath their dadde Boner,
Qui vomuit nigrum, post fata cruorem.
The fifte lesson.
Homo natus.
Homo
natus,
Came to heauen gatus:
Sir you doe come to latus,
With your shorne patus.
Frequentia falsa Euangelij,
For the loue of your bealie,
Cum auro & argento,
You loued the rules of Lento,
Whiche the Pope did inuento
You are spurius de muliere,
Not legittimate nor lawful here
O quam venenosa pestis,
Fur, periurus, latro mechus,
Homicidus tantum decus,
De salute animarum,
Of Christes flocke thou hadest small carum.
Thou art filius populi,
Go, go, to Constantinopoli,
To your maister the Turke,
There shall you lurke:
Emong the Heathen soules,
Somtyme your shorne brethren of Poules,
Were as blacke as Moules,
With their cappes fower forked,
Their shoes warme corked,
Nosed like redde Grapes,
Constant as she Apes,
In nature like blacke Monkes,
And shoote in Sparowes trunkes
And boule when thei haue dinde,
And kepe them from the winde,
And thei whiche are not able,
Doe sitte still at the table,
With colour Scarlet pale
So small is their good ale,
Thus from God thei did tourne,
Lōg before their church did burne
Then when riche men wer sicke,
Either dedde or quicke,
Valde diligenter notant,
Vbi diuites egrotant,
Ibi currunt, nec cessabunt,
Donec ipsos tumilabunt,
Oues alienas tondunt,
Et perochias confundunt.
These felowes pilde as Ganders,
Muche like the friers of Flāders,
Whiche serue Sathan about the cloisters,
Thei loue red wine and Oisters,
Qui vult Satanæ seruire
Claustrum debet introire,
And euer haue suche an hedde,
As bastarde Boner that is dedde:
He would for the Pope take pain,
Therfore help you friers of spain:
You enquisiters take paine,
It is a greate maine.
Unto the Pope your hedde,
That Boner is thus dedde,
And buried in a misers graue,
Like a common k.
Lo, lo, now is he dedde,
That was so well fedde,
And had a softe bedde.
Estote fortis in bella.
Good Hardyng and thy fellowe:
If you be Papistes right,
Come steale hym awaie by night
And put hym in a shrine,
He was the Popes deuine,
Why, shall he be forgotten,
And lye still and rotten:
Come on and doe not fainte,
Translate with spede your sainct.
And put hym in a tombe,
His harte is now at Rome.
Come forth you loughtes of Louē
And steale awaie this flouen,
You are so full of Ire,
And Popishe desire:
And Romishe derision,
And hellishe deuision.
Therefore I am sure,
Your kyngdome will not dure.
Crescit rancor, crescit ira,
Crescit & inuidia,
Totus Louen in errorem,
Uoluiter in caligine,
Nullus curat obidire,
Verbis Iesu Christi,
Fides ī Roma nō apparet,
Totus Louen fide carit.
Thus he must tourne to duste,
In Louen there is none to truste.
As slipperie as Eles,
The worlde doe run on wheles,
Now helpe old frendes of Poules
And praie for our soules:
This is our desire,
From these flames of fire.
Iam in Purgatorij,
Oh. L.R.G. and F. be sorie,
Breuis eius dies sunt,
He breathed ouer Poules Funte
Ridiant me inimici,
But all you that bee wisie,
Beware of Papistrie all,
The Chequer, & westminster hall
And all the Innes of Courte,
I doe not scoffe nor sporte.
And all this greate citie,
It is greate pitie:
That I Edmonde Boner,
Against Goddes greate honor,
Haue drawen you from truthe,
Oh this is greate ruthe.
Comissa mea pauesco,
Et ante te tremesco,
Dum veneris iudicare,
Quare, quare, quare, quare.
Fremuerunt Gentes.
I beshrowe the Popes dentes
In cathedra Moysi impij sedent,
Therefore repent, repent, repent
Tempus est vos reuertendi,
Tempus est nobis non penitendi,
Tempus est vos redeundi,
Ab errore falsi mundi
False Papistes, and false theeues
Shall euer haue paines & greues,
Thus did Boner sore lamente,
Mouyng Christes to repente.
Responde.
Came to heauen gatus:
Sir you doe come to latus,
With your shorne patus.
Frequentia falsa Euangelij,
For the loue of your bealie,
Cum auro & argento,
You loued the rules of Lento,
Whiche the Pope did inuento
Not legittimate nor lawful here
O quam venenosa pestis,
Fur, periurus, latro mechus,
Homicidus tantum decus,
De salute animarum,
Of Christes flocke thou hadest small carum.
Thou art filius populi,
Go, go, to Constantinopoli,
To your maister the Turke,
There shall you lurke:
Emong the Heathen soules,
Somtyme your shorne brethren of Poules,
Were as blacke as Moules,
With their cappes fower forked,
Their shoes warme corked,
Nosed like redde Grapes,
Constant as she Apes,
In nature like blacke Monkes,
And shoote in Sparowes trunkes
And boule when thei haue dinde,
And kepe them from the winde,
And thei whiche are not able,
Doe sitte still at the table,
With colour Scarlet pale
So small is their good ale,
Thus from God thei did tourne,
Lōg before their church did burne
Either dedde or quicke,
Valde diligenter notant,
Vbi diuites egrotant,
Ibi currunt, nec cessabunt,
Donec ipsos tumilabunt,
Oues alienas tondunt,
Et perochias confundunt.
These felowes pilde as Ganders,
Muche like the friers of Flāders,
Whiche serue Sathan about the cloisters,
Thei loue red wine and Oisters,
Qui vult Satanæ seruire
Claustrum debet introire,
And euer haue suche an hedde,
As bastarde Boner that is dedde:
He would for the Pope take pain,
Therfore help you friers of spain:
You enquisiters take paine,
It is a greate maine.
Unto the Pope your hedde,
That Boner is thus dedde,
And buried in a misers graue,
Like a common k.
Lo, lo, now is he dedde,
That was so well fedde,
And had a softe bedde.
Estote fortis in bella.
If you be Papistes right,
Come steale hym awaie by night
And put hym in a shrine,
He was the Popes deuine,
Why, shall he be forgotten,
And lye still and rotten:
Come on and doe not fainte,
Translate with spede your sainct.
And put hym in a tombe,
His harte is now at Rome.
Come forth you loughtes of Louē
And steale awaie this flouen,
You are so full of Ire,
And Popishe desire:
And Romishe derision,
And hellishe deuision.
Therefore I am sure,
Your kyngdome will not dure.
Crescit rancor, crescit ira,
Crescit & inuidia,
Totus Louen in errorem,
Uoluiter in caligine,
Nullus curat obidire,
Verbis Iesu Christi,
Fides ī Roma nō apparet,
Totus Louen fide carit.
Thus he must tourne to duste,
As slipperie as Eles,
The worlde doe run on wheles,
Now helpe old frendes of Poules
And praie for our soules:
This is our desire,
From these flames of fire.
Iam in Purgatorij,
Oh. L.R.G. and F. be sorie,
Breuis eius dies sunt,
He breathed ouer Poules Funte
Ridiant me inimici,
But all you that bee wisie,
Beware of Papistrie all,
The Chequer, & westminster hall
And all the Innes of Courte,
I doe not scoffe nor sporte.
And all this greate citie,
It is greate pitie:
That I Edmonde Boner,
Against Goddes greate honor,
Haue drawen you from truthe,
Oh this is greate ruthe.
Comissa mea pauesco,
Et ante te tremesco,
Dum veneris iudicare,
Quare, quare, quare, quare.
Fremuerunt Gentes.
In cathedra Moysi impij sedent,
Therefore repent, repent, repent
Tempus est vos reuertendi,
Tempus est nobis non penitendi,
Tempus est vos redeundi,
Ab errore falsi mundi
False Papistes, and false theeues
Shall euer haue paines & greues,
Thus did Boner sore lamente,
Mouyng Christes to repente.
Ne recorderis peccata,
He was full of hata
Regardyng non estata,
Et quasi flos,
with his greate nose,
Fugit velut vmbra,
Thei morne for hym in northūbria
The sixte lesson.
Quis michi hoc tribuat.
One
alas in dreadfull dreame,
poore Boner did beholde:
In wofull weede attired foule,
sometyme was braue in golde;
With fierie stroke sore beaten was,
that sometyme had smitten other:
He was as sore turmented there,
as Cain that slewe his brother.
His salte teares can doune apace,
with bloudie hande he strake his breast:
A worme about his harte be wrapte,
that reaued hym of his reste.
About this gooste flocked a rablement,
of Friers fatte and foule:
Then cried out a little spirite,
like a shrikyng Oule.
Ve, ve, and out alas,
thy vengeaunce doe now begin:
These flames and floudes, & dungeons deepe,
are wages all for synne.
Come drinke thy fill in Lethæ flod
and then to Styx retourne:
Forget thy self, denaye thy God,
lo, this is a place to burne.
The wicked ones, whiche ordeined were,
as chaffe caste from the corne:
So in this bloudie Cocytus,
thou shalt be rent and torne.
Quis michi tribuat quod Boner tho
shall I in this place dwell:
Let me be clensed in Purgatorie,
awaie you fiendes of hell.
Donec, donec, my trentals are doen
in the Churche of Rome:
Tary here said the Mōkes blacke
vntill the daie of dome.
With that he swelde with lothly looke,
criyng, now haue I nede:
Where are become my Romishe frendes,
where is good Henry Crede?
Miseremini mei, miseremini mei,
if merites maie me saue:
Suche measure as you haue measured other men,
suche measure shall you haue.
Quis potest facere mundum,
a bastarde wert thou borne:
De immundo conseptum semine,
now art thou rente and torne.
Burnt and dround and neuer dede
we haue none other place:
Spes impiorum peribit,
we are exclude all from grace.
Non remittitur ei in hoc seculo,
neque in alio.
You are condempned by the Iudge,
to dwell still in our gallio.
Et sicut dies marcennarij,
thy daies are made an ende:
An enemie to the Lorde thy God,
but to the Pope a frende.
Then cast thei hym in Melas flood
moste darcke and blacke in sight
Iu dreadfull slepe a man did se,
this vision in the night.
Responde.
poore Boner did beholde:
In wofull weede attired foule,
sometyme was braue in golde;
that sometyme had smitten other:
He was as sore turmented there,
as Cain that slewe his brother.
His salte teares can doune apace,
with bloudie hande he strake his breast:
A worme about his harte be wrapte,
that reaued hym of his reste.
About this gooste flocked a rablement,
of Friers fatte and foule:
Then cried out a little spirite,
like a shrikyng Oule.
Ve, ve, and out alas,
thy vengeaunce doe now begin:
These flames and floudes, & dungeons deepe,
are wages all for synne.
Come drinke thy fill in Lethæ flod
and then to Styx retourne:
Forget thy self, denaye thy God,
lo, this is a place to burne.
The wicked ones, whiche ordeined were,
as chaffe caste from the corne:
So in this bloudie Cocytus,
thou shalt be rent and torne.
Quis michi tribuat quod Boner tho
shall I in this place dwell:
Let me be clensed in Purgatorie,
awaie you fiendes of hell.
in the Churche of Rome:
Tary here said the Mōkes blacke
vntill the daie of dome.
With that he swelde with lothly looke,
criyng, now haue I nede:
Where are become my Romishe frendes,
where is good Henry Crede?
Miseremini mei, miseremini mei,
if merites maie me saue:
Suche measure as you haue measured other men,
suche measure shall you haue.
Quis potest facere mundum,
a bastarde wert thou borne:
De immundo conseptum semine,
now art thou rente and torne.
Burnt and dround and neuer dede
we haue none other place:
Spes impiorum peribit,
we are exclude all from grace.
Non remittitur ei in hoc seculo,
neque in alio.
You are condempned by the Iudge,
to dwell still in our gallio.
Et sicut dies marcennarij,
thy daies are made an ende:
An enemie to the Lorde thy God,
but to the Pope a frende.
moste darcke and blacke in sight
Iu dreadfull slepe a man did se,
this vision in the night.
Ne recorderis peccata,
But open heauen gata
Sainct Peter with your kaies,
Shewe my lorde the right waies
He dwelt ones at Poules,
And had cure of our soules:
I wisse he was not a baste,
But holie, meke, and chaste:
It is a greate pitie,
That he is gone from our citie:
A man of greate honor,
Oh holy sainct Boner,
You blessed Friers,
That neuer wer liers:
And you holy Nunnes
That neuer had sōnes
Set this child of grace,
In some Angelles place.
But open heauen gata
Sainct Peter with your kaies,
Shewe my lorde the right waies
He dwelt ones at Poules,
And had cure of our soules:
I wisse he was not a baste,
But holie, meke, and chaste:
It is a greate pitie,
That he is gone from our citie:
A man of greate honor,
Oh holy sainct Boner,
You blessed Friers,
That neuer wer liers:
And you holy Nunnes
That neuer had sōnes
Set this child of grace,
In some Angelles place.
Dum veneris iudicare,
Helpe, helpe S. Marie
Noli eum condemnare,
He burned many in
the daies of Quene Marie.
Sicut Leo querens prædam,
animas deuorauit.
If this was not a blessed deede,
Aske L.R.S.P. and H. Crede.
Helpe, helpe S. Marie
Noli eum condemnare,
the daies of Quene Marie.
Sicut Leo querens prædam,
animas deuorauit.
If this was not a blessed deede,
Aske L.R.S.P. and H. Crede.
The seuenth lesson.
Spiritus meus.
My
spirit God wotte, is feble, weake and sore:
and so shall wee Papistes, daiely more and more.
Our tyme of Papistrie shalbe shorte, foolishe and vaine.
Ab aquilone penditur 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 Monkes in bootes:
And destroied Christes doctrine cleane by the rootes.
Brought in Idols, Latin seruice, and ryngyng of belles.
Erected 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 call
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 a K.
Si veritatem dico, quare non creditis michi?
The Responde.
and so shall wee Papistes, daiely more and more.
Our tyme of Papistrie shalbe shorte, foolishe and vaine.
Ab aquilone penditur 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 Monkes in bootes:
And destroied Christes doctrine cleane by the rootes.
Erected 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 call
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 a K.
Si veritatem dico, quare non creditis michi?
Dies eius breuiabuntur,
Boner was a greate hunter:
Per ignem with fire hotte,
Nunc 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,
In inferno nulla est redemptio.
The eight lesson. Fo. rede it.
Pelle mei consumptus.
My
fleshe is consumed, there is but 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 Leaden penne, emong the Romishe roules,
And make some Obsequi for my sake, I would 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 your 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, vnwares like to a thefe.
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 Martyrs 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.
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 Leaden penne, emong the Romishe roules,
And make some Obsequi for my sake, I would 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 your 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.
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, vnwares like to a thefe.
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 Martyrs 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.
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:
Scimus quia transit hora,
Redeamus sine mora,
Uitam nostram emendamus,
The hower of death, drawyng on a pace
Praie for mercie, ioye, and grace:
Vade & non amplius peccare.
The nineth lesson.
Quare de vulua. S. rede it.
Alas
from my mothers wombe.
why hast thou brought me out?
I haue liued like a Butchers dogge
and died like al oute.
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 se a pulpit, in churches wise,
made by my prison dore.
A Preacher there was, that Crowly 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 slain
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 sorte,
as I had neuer been.
The Responde.
why hast thou brought me out?
I haue liued like a Butchers dogge
and died like al oute.
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,
And did se a pulpit, in churches wise,
made by my prison dore.
A Preacher there was, that Crowly 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 slain
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 sorte,
as I had neuer been.
In die illa tremenda,
Who shall my lorde defenda:
Neither Pe. Wes. Nor. Mar.
Traitors Tempest that blowe vp warre,
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 wont.
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.
Sepulchrum 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 magnæ & amara.
Thei are now in sorow and cara
Thei will neuer haue suche honor
As had this bastarde E. Boner.
Although he were a Po. k.
Pluet super proditores laquios.
The'nde of Boners Dirige.
Per ironiam Erat vir ille simplex & rectus, ac timens deum, & recædens a malo.
| A Commemoration or Dirige of Bastarde Edmonde Boner, alias Sauage, usurped Bisshoppe of London | |