Lo now the lingering hope is past,
that late the Papistes had
Their braggyng brests which boild in hate,
their hartes with care haue clad.
They looked long for wished tyme,
of Antichristes returne
When they in wonted wise might spoyle,
and heapes of Martyrs burne.
But see the prouidence of God,
their malice to asswage
He hath bereft these Papistes proud,
the piller of their rage.
Their whip, their sword, their fire brand,
of wrath their chefest stay
The spoyler of the Christian flocke,
of whom he made a praye.
For bloudy burnyng Boner now,
hath made exchaunge of lyfe
That whilelome was the murtherer,
of infant, man, and wife.
Yet sometyme he a fauorer,
and did professe the troth
Defiyng Pope and Popishnes,
fiue tymes with solemne oth
And letted not for to accuse,
and note of haynous crime
Such as were slacke to do the lyke,
duryng Lord Cromwels tyme.
A learned Epistle eke he wrat,
in prayse and in defence
Of Byshop Gardiners worke the booke,
of true obedience.
Wherin he doth accuse the Pope,
his Churche and Romish rable
Of haynous crimes right horrible,
and deedes detestable.
As tyranny, vsurpyng state,
reprochefull vnto God
Of England eke a very spoyle,
to Christ his flocke a rod.
He names the Pope a greedy wolfe,
he ioyes in his decay
Hopyng the truth long troden downe,
at length should beare the sway.
He prayseth much the noble Prince,
and calles K. Henry vertuous
That in suppressyng Popish power,
he is so studious.
Wherby most playnly may appeare,
how Boner had a tast
Of Christ and of his Gospell pure,
tho he them scorned at last.
In Denmarke eke Ambassadour,
he published with speede
The booke and Epistle named before,
as worthy workes in deede.
Then sent Ambassador to Fraunce,
from Henry puisaunt Kyng
He furthered with free consent,
the English Bibles Printyng.
And caused diuers of the same,
it semed of godly zeale
For to be plast within Paules Church,
Christes truth for to reueale.
He causde fiue hundred Testamentes,
be Printed, this I know
And those as precious iewels did,
vpon his frendes bestow.
But as a wauering weather cocke,
Lord Cromwell beyng dead
Forsaking Christ and all his lawes,
to papistry he fled.
And of a Paule became a Saule,
a Herode thirsting blood
As on young Mekins well was sene,
his cruell killing moode.
For when one quest had cleard the boy,
and iudgd him giltles quite
He causd another Quest be cald,
and him condemnd by might.
Thus draue he forth kyng Henries dayes,
but when his noble sonne
In fathers place to regall throne,
by due desent was come.
Then cald to count for his offence,
as iustice thought it fit
In humble wise before the Lordes,
himselfe he did submit.
But afterward most stubburnly,
with great contempt and scorne
He did deny his former facte,
as one, ere then forsworne,
For which offence in prison cast,
where he with wealth was fedde
Without regard of God or prince,
a peruerst lyfe he ledde.
But when in brothers sacred seate,
God would Queene Mary place
This wilfull man from prison cald,
by her especiall grace,
Abusing much the lenitie,
and mercy of the Queene
Such bloody broyles began to brue,
as earst was neuer seene.
And lyke a roaring Lion he,
of Plutoes poysoned band
Made hauocke ef the saintes of God,
his Christ he did withstand.
He trode his gospell vnder foote,
as much as in him lay
With tormoyle great, and torments huge,
the Church he did affray.
And pitie none would he alow,
no mercy might him moue
His broyling brest enflamed so,
with popish fathers loue.
With coales and candle light also,
of some the handes he brent
Of some the haire, from of their face,
with cruell clawes he rent.
Some men he beate vpon the face,
but some, most like a beast
He scourgd with whips & rods (O wretch)
that dede, all men detest.
And breathing forth his tiranny,
consumde with fire and flame
The olde, the yong, the riche, the poore,
the halt, the blinde, and lame.
What should I say, my hart it rues,
the peoples teares recorde
The wayled woes for saintes so slayne,
which is to be abhorde.
But all this might not moue his mynde,
for witte gaue place to will
Both grace and reason fled him fro,
his hart was hardened still.
But when God of his prouidence,
our famous Queene did sende
To stay the rage of tiranny,
and wastfull wreakes to ende.
The mercy of Elizabeth,
tho it doth farre exceede
Could not reclaime his cureles hart,
which errors still did feede.
But that he vsde vnreuerently,
with scoffes in mocking wise
Her graces high Commissioners,
both worthy, graue, and wise.
So when the people prayd for him,
reprochefull wordes he gaue
Most vile, not christianlike, as one
that had a soule to saue.
The second tyme to prison brought,
where he his lyfe did leaue
Where learned men persuaded him,
vnto the truth to cleaue,
And flie the fancies of the fonde,
wherwith he was abusde
Unwilling still to heare them speake,
good Councell he refusde.
So that vntill his dying houre,
he shewed no perfect signe
Of a repentaunt hart or mynde,
that would from sinne decline.
But as he liude a lothed lyfe,
vnconstant, vile, and vayne
Forsaking faith and natures kynde,
which God hath in disdayne.
His glory aye the peoples griefe,
the poore mans payne his pride
(A wofull flocke where such a wolfe,
appointed was for guide)
Euen so his ende was dolefull to,
wherin did well appeare
On him the iudgement iust of God,
right wonderfull to heare.
For dead his face as blacke as coale,
and monstruous withall
His grisly looke so terrible,
as might a man appall.
Was to the good a very glasse,
wherin they all may learne
To shunne, the way that Boner went,
and better path deserne.
Yet tho in lyfe he would not graunt,
Christes mercy for to craue
He wild his wretched Corps with pompe,
brought should be to the graue.
Unto the Church whereas sometyme,
a Prelate plast was he
Euen there his solemne obsiquies,
and funerals to be.
But sith it was so farre vnmeete,
a place for him more fitt
Within the Churchyard of S. George,
he hath a homely pitt.
And sith he loued not the light,
but did the same despise
At midnight was he buryed there,
from vewe of peoples eyes.
Wherfore ye Papistes all beware,
forsake this Romish whore
And feare the Iudgementes of the Lord,
which will you els deuoure.
Recant ye all your heresies,
and leaue your peruerse way
Wherin you walkt so stubburnely,
so long and many a day.
Loue God, obey your soueraine,
and pray for her estate
Renounce ye all your Maummetry,
least ye repent to late.