✚ A slaunderous Libell (cast abroad) vnto an Epitaph set forth vpon the death of D. E. Boner, with a Reply to the same lying Libell, by T. Broo.
❧ Imprinted at London by Iohn Daye, dwelling ouer Aldersgate.
The Libell.
Who so sp eaketh that he should not:
must heare what he would not.
MArch forth in malice brauling Brooke,
let taunting tounge haue no restraint:
Spew our the worst thou canstinuent,
against this Boner blessed saint.
Spare not to speake most slaunderous speach,
against this Prelate dead and gone:
Declare thy selfe like furious dogge,
to bite and barke at euery stone.
Reply.
At length I finde thy lies I waigh not:
Truth bids me answere altho I would not.
NO malice moued hath my minde,
nor tauntingly the truth I penne:
No spite did cause me to depaint,
this Boner saint of Sathans denne.
Where as the deuill beares the crosse,
a holy sort it should appeare:
If Boner be a blessed saint,
then cruell Nero neede not feare.
The slaughter house had open wrong,
that Boner was a Byshop made:
And Newgate lost his right that day,
so skilfull he in Baylers trade.
No madde braine moode hath me prouokt,
nor Boner dead I ought despite:
Which thou mightst see with open eyes,
but Boner like thou hatst the light.
But loe from thee now flascheth forth,
the burning sprite of Boners brest:
Which wonted was in wilfull sort,
the law and truth with wrong to wrest.
Yet for I heard of some so fonde,
to thinke that he was wronged much:
A peece (not all) of his leude lite,
I thought no shame or sinne to touch.
I coulde haue tolde the numbers, great
of vices vile the viper had:
Whose fury fell and franticke force,
oft honest hartes with care hath clad.
And Epitaphes do onely serue,
the wightes enthrald by Atropos:
Which els the same of their desertes,
or good or badde might happe to lose.
Some prayse the Lawyers iudgementes right,
some vaunt the warriours worthynes:
Some tell the vertues of the wise,
some shew of Boners blouddynes.
Not I then like a furious dogge,
in death haue sauage Boner bitte:
Nor raging I with stormy streames,
but calmely loe my floudes did flitte.
The Libell.
Thy rayling tounge against good men,
is to well knowne seuen yeares agoe:
What slaunders thou against him heapest,
if truth were knowne be nothing so.
Reply.
Thou doest me wrong thus to accuse,
of flaundring any honest man:
Or now, or seuen yeares agoe,
name thou the wight if that thou can.
In rayling thou art Boners childe,
in scoffes, in scoldes, in slaunders vile,
In lyings leude in Popery,
it seemes thy dame did not begile.
Most like thy dad in euery poynt,
yet bastard none for ought I know:
Nor maiden Priest as Boner was,
whose children liude not long ago.
The infernall sprites do daunce for ioy,
to heare this Boners babe thus baule:
And falsehode fleeres to finde such frendes,
as seeke with lyes the truth to gaule.
Is this the iust reward I haue,
that sought in silence for to hide:
The halfe of all his wretchednes,
which thou mightst shame to heare discride?
Thou shewest thy selfe euen what thou art
a blessed babe of Baalams broode:
Not able to maintaine thy part,
in slaundering swellest like a tode.
The Libell.
The law thou thinkest is on thy side,
to rayle at randome as thou listest:
And for thy slaunderous wordes thou hopest,
that none should thee resist.
Reply.
The law is on my side I know,
the perfect law of God it is:
Which to reproue thou hast no power,
though serpent like thou subtilly hisse.
This was the practise of the Iewes,
to cloke their faultes with false report:
Their cursed crueltie to hide,
and sinnefull sectes for to support.
The Libell.
His vertues rare did thee displease,
for theeues against iust iudges speake:
Till Partha cut his fatall thread,
thy woefull wrath thou durst not wreake.
Doth Gospell which thou doost professe,
teach thee to dip thy penne in gall,
And so defame such learned men,
whom vertue doth to honour call.
Reply.
Yea more then rare his vertues were,
for vertue none in him did rest:
As time did serue I sought to shew,
the vices which I still detest.
If I in ought haue Boner wrongde,
it is in that I not displaide:
Vnto the full his wretched life,
and Pagan Pagentes that he plaide.
But now sith that ye geue the cause,
to thend you Papistes should not thinke:
Your lying lippes and slaundrous wordes,
from known truth should make me shrink.
In playner sort I iustly proue,
that Boner for his great outrage:
Did Achab passe and Iezabell,
a Dioclesian of our age.
And if my verse seeme somewhat sharpe,
yet from the truth I will not swarue:
And vnprouokte of enuies roote,
yelde milder wordes then ye deserue.
Some theeues agaynst iust iudges speake,
so Caiphas did agaynst his Christ:
But if that thou call Boner iust,
I well can proue thou shamefully lyest.
He oft for meede peruerted right,
a cruell tyranne in his dayes:
He bolstered bawdry by his might,
and simonie by Romishe sayes.
And thou doest follow him apace,
to raile and raue without cause why:
The thinges thou canst not iustly proue,
thou fortifiest with a lye.
With spiders iuice thy penne is wet,
no Gospells lore thy toung doth guide:
But Pluto or his younglinges skill,
the poysoned Pope high prince of pride.
By false hypocrisie we see,
did Boner clime to honours height:
And placed there vnworthy he,
all vertues wayes despised straight.
Yet London may his Minotaure,
his Boner boast for all assayes:
[Page] Sith Becket neuer bred such bale,
nor halfe so well the Pope could please.
Why did ye not shrine him aliue,
Saint Dunstane might haue done the deede:
Swete samt Fraunces or Boniface,
or Belzebub for better spede.
The Libell.
We see how thou in Rethoricke roollest,
as one in Schemes and Tropes expert.
Frequenting of this figure rare,
which some men call sauce malipert.
What truth in preaching thou declarest,
I am content that other try.
In this thy worke I can affirme,
that euery line contaynes a lie.
And euery lie so shamefully made:
suckt out from saucy fingers end,
That surely some vnhappy sprite,
put to his hand to haue it penned.
Reply.
Thou and thy Boner bounteles,
in natures one seme to agree:
Two happy wombes from whence the sprang,
the pestilent fruite of poysoned tree.
What Boner was right well appeard,
while wastfull will with might was matcht:
Such wouldst thou seme in power plast,
a bounsing boye of Hidra hatcht.
Thy muse doth march in slaunderous sort,
fond rage doth rule thy beastly braine:
Cease shameles tauntyng toung to toyle,
in Boners case with lyes so vaine.
I tolde a troth why doost thou lye,
tho preacher none to farre vnfit:
Forbeare to striue against the streame,
let reason rule thy wreastling witte.
Thou doost abuse thy figure much,
that More so ment thou canst not proue:
It is not sure Saucemalepert,
a knaue of knauery to reproue.
Thou were but lately at the mill,
that ground thy lyes yet somewhat grose:
Alas good syr how saucye I,
the serpentes subtletie to disclose.
When as the Apostles did reproue,
the high priestes, they were sayd to scold,
So I in telling Boners faultes,
of thee am counted saucese bold.
But what if I should tell them all,
then mightst thou haue a heauy hart:
Poore papist sure thou wouldst runne mad,
for why these few doo make thee start.
The spirite that guided hath my pen,
is tryed truth I dare auouch:
You loth to heare his treachery,
because such faultes your selfe do touch.
If vertue had remainde in him,
or were thy yeares replete with grace:
I would haue reuerenced you both,
but to brute beastes I geue no place.
The Libell.
Did he fiue times with solemne othe,
his Clxistian faith deny?
[Page] Did he fiue times renounce the Pope?
O shamefull famous lye.
Foure tymes belike before his birth,
he did commit the crime:
And then the fift thou doost declare,
was in Lord Cromwels time.
And then was he but very younge,
and knew not chalke from chese:
Perchaunce as loth as thou art now,
promotion for to leese.
Reply.
That sondry times he sworne was,
to maintenaunce of christian fayth:
His hand doth shew forth comming yet,
but periured papistes this not wayeth.
First named Archdeacon of Leicester,
he sware vnto King Henries booke:
Then elect bishop of Hereforde,
he sware againe, the story looke.
Then pastor he of London made,
agaynst the Pope he tooke his oth:
And when our soueraigne borne was,
he did the like know this for troth.
So at the birth of Prince Edward,
and at his coronation:
He sware agaynst the Romish whore,
and her abhomination.
I leaue how stoutely he at Rome,
defied the Pope vnto his face:
In Scalding lead he had bene boylde,
but that he packt away a pace.
Thou sayest I made a famous lye,
but I haue proued my wordes full true:
From those thy lines is truth exilde,
as from the rest which doo ensue.
And for his yeares by thy accompt,
full fifty he in Cromwells time:
O shamels man the truth appeares,
seeke not with lyes to hide his crime.
Thou sayest he liued fourescore and sixe,
but thirty one since Cromwell dyed:
Then fifty fiue was Boners age,
in Cromwells time, or thou hast lyed.
No baby then a knauish foole,
a crafty cloyne as now thou art:
Thy lines do shew how he could clawe,
and for aduauntage play his part.
Promotion sure I neuer chose,
nor glutted am with worldly pelfe:
But though I all at once should lose,
yet would I not forsweare my selfe.
The Libell.
But after he was grounded once,
in wisdomes learned schole.
He did perceaue and sore repent,
that he had playde the foole.
And calling then for God his grace,
for to inspire his hart:
Persisted still in Christ his faith.
till death did him depart.
Reply.
Thou art deceaued he neuer learnd,
in schole by wisdomes sacred lore:
[Page] For to deny the gospell pure,
which he professed had before.
But Iudas lyke he Christ betrayde,
a persecuting Saul outright:
As Cain his sinnes he did forthincke,
professing Ieroboams sprite.
And as the dogge to vomite turnes,
so Boner leauing wisdomes schole:
To wonted lewdnes made repayre,
the lenger life the greater foole.
Wherefore the Lord with drew his spirite,
and gaue him vp vnto his lust:
Wherein he ranne a ruthfull race,
till he returned againe to dust.
The Libell.
His yeares on earth with honor spent,
were three and fourty double tolde:
But as for thee thou mayst be hangde,
ere thou be halfe so olde.
Reply.
Herein the princes mercy shines,
our noble Queene sought not his bloud:
As he did hers maliciously,
and stubbournely her lawes with stoode.
Her clemency a cureles hart,
she thought in time to truth should turne,
But vice had vertue chased so,
that grace by no meanes might returne.
Full thirty yeares now haue I liude,
but rather than I would become:
So quite deuoyde of shame as he,
I wish to God for speedy dome.
But thou pray for thy selfe I say,
for when both Pope and hope are past:
To feele thy wretched bodyes waight,
a rope may serue thy necke at last.
The Libell.
Thou sayst that Papistes lingring hope,
in Byshop Boner did depend,
Which now, sith death did him preuent,
is come thou trustes to finall ende.
Well then I frame this argument,
a simile to thee agayne:
Sith sundry of thy sinfull sect,
by dint of death are slayne.
As Caluine piller of your Church,
whome you accompted wise:
In liewe of his false heresie,
was werried vp with lice.
Sith Luther, author of your sect,
whom Sathans schismes fed:
As dronken sot, with sursetting,
was dead found in his bed.
Reply.
The lingring hope the papistes lost,
was great by Boners fatall fall:
If not consumed into care,
their pieuish pride it did appall.
That papists hoped their watchword shewes,
a due vnto the golden day:
Our God is good who than I trust,
shall put you papistes by your pray. &c.
Sometime God doth from anger stint,
he will not beate his children still:
As when he takes tyrantes away,
which liue in hope his church to spill.
Sometime for peoples sinnes also,
doth God bereaue their pastors true:
A token of Gods wrath to come,
and his displeasure to ensue.
So Boner taken away from vs,
fortels the goodnes of our God:
And Luthers death and Caluins both,
was to those countries then a rod.
Our Church on no such pillers standes,
on Christ the rocke, our fayth is stayde:
And though such worthy members dye,
our hartes thereby are not dismayde.
But O thou most infamous wretch,
I thinke the very diuels of hell:
Doo hide their face for very shame,
their sonne so leud a lye to tell.
Did Caluin dye wearied with lise?
or like a Lambe with sicknes prest:
Beware least lise reuenge these lyes,
by wrath of God on that thy breast.
How Martin Luther yelded breath,
apparant is by good record:
And such a stately buriall,
hath wanted many a prince and Lord.
O stiffe neckt Iewe that neuer stentest,
Christes followers for to defame:
With gluttony and dronkenes,
the troth is knowne and breedes thy shame.
But Boner was no surfetor,
by fast and prayer he pined so:
[Page] That vnneth he had an eye to see,
for fatte he scarsely well might go.
The Imber dayes he well obserud,
with fish from Sea and runnyng streme:
And that but base of common sort,
as Cunger, Brett, Pike, Carpe, & Breme.
He fasted oft till hunger came,
he spared much the poore mans beefe:
With Quaile and Partrege he tooke paine,
fatte Capons were his chiefe reliefe.
In stede of grosest Mutton pies,
the fattest Venson from parke and chase:
Both hotte and colde, and that good store,
with wine he washed downe apace.
He had a care for Horse and Mule,
and kept their branne out of his bread:
On finest manchet that was made,
alas this sely Boner fedde.
And sith the Thames was somewhat farre,
or Cundite water clere and fine:
His morning draught was Ipocras,
or els the purest Muscadine.
For norishing he loude a Pigge,
et non tam caute but I heare:
When hauty hartes were hard to haue,
he was content with Fallow Deare. &c.
He watched when as he could not sleepe,
he prayde that ye might heare him snort:
In stede of bordes on beddes of downe,
thus was this pynyng Prelates hurt.
To recreate his sprites he vsde,
Boules, Cardes, & Tables, all day long:
And set vpon his mery pinne,
could sometime sing a baudy song. &c.
But sith thou doost delight to heare,
of such as dyed in distresse:
Though Luther and Caluin both were cleare,
loe here at least a mischeuous messe.
Pope Adrian, your blessed sire,
in breathing threates agaynst a king:
An vgly Fly with sodayne death,
his holines at throat did sting.
The greatest foe that Luther had,
Eckius yelding vp the ghost:
Did say: foure thousand crownes preparde,
will this dispatch (a iolly boast).
A heauenly end no doubt he made,
he had some Cardinalship to buy:
He thought (as Boner) on his God,
which forst him thus on him to cry.
Cardinall Cretensius
dyed, with sight of a blacke dogge:
In ruth ended Bomelius,
and Thornton that beastly hog.
Iacobus Latomus hauing made,
gaynst Luther an oration long:
Fell straight to desperation,
and ended so his wofull song.
Lord Poncher, and Minerius,
with fire of God were stricken so:
[Page] And while their flesh consumde therewith,
defied God as mortall foe.
Our Cardinall Poole in Grenewich house,
did blesse the Douer Suffragane:
While kneeling downe vpon the straires,
receiude it like a holy man.
The blessing geuen the blessed fell,
downe from the staires his necke he brast:
I thinke the diuell might haue geuen,
as good a blessing with lesse hast.
These were the patrones of your Church,
blessed bishops Boner like:
Great tormenters of Christes flocke,
O feare the Lord least he do strike.
The Libell.
Sith Prince of Conde, all your hope,
your buckler and your shielde,
As traytor false against his Prince,
was stayne in open fielde.
The Prince of Orange put to flight,
with all his band dismayd:
You heretiques must needes confesse,
your courage quite decayde.
Reply.
Of noble princes for to write,
it is to farre without my reach:
But if thou hadst a subiectes heart,
then wouldst thou vse more seemely speach,
Thou shewest well thy trayterous minde,
vnto thy prince and natiue land:
A rope, a rope for that parot,
or (Boners bountie) a fire brand.
I know the Prince of Conde slayne,
and so your manly Duke of Guise:
The king of Nauarre bid like payne,
Duke Mommorancy in likewise.
The Duke of Alba his sonne is dead,
what prayse his father wonne that time:
I doo not tell or neede not write,
for why so hye I will not clime.
The Libell.
Thy slaundering him with tiranny,
in such a spitefull sort:
Might make some men which knew him not,
beleue thy false report.
Thou sayest that from the face of some,
with clawes he rent the heare:
But where, or when, or names of them,
that canst thou not declare.
But when gaue he reprochfull wordes,
or such disdainfull eyes:
Vnto the Queenes commissioners,
a whetstone for these lyes.
Reply.
Thou breathyng forth with bashles brow,
of lewd lyes loe a monstrous heape:
Doost me accuse most wrongfully,
the shame therof be sure to reape.
His tyranny doth so appeare,
agayne I nede it not report:
How many wayes in wilfull wise,
or after what a shamelesse sort.
First clapt he men in prison strong,
till rigourous lawes were framed wherby:
[Page] With cloke of right he might consume,
all such as would not Christ deny.
The law so made Christes flocke to spoyle,
could Boners fury nothyng swage:
But that his bloudy handes must helpe,
them to torment in wilfull rage.
Some with his fist he beat so sore,
vpon the face that swollen blacke:
The selly soules condemned to dye,
did bryng his marke vnto the stake.
Poore Tomkins hand did Boner burne,
this tormenter not so content:
With cruell clawes from of his face,
nye halfe his beard the tyraunt rent.
Most Tiger lyke wi [...]h Pagan pawes,
the beard of Rough in rage extreme:
In shameles sort the tyraunt tare,
how blessed he now may ye deme.
What should I neede to name the rest,
they lyue that saw it with their eyes:
Yet falsely thou doest me reproue,
a mill a mill to grinde thy lyes.
Of his reprochefull wordes vnmeete,
the people are not ignoraunt:
And loe I would them now recite,
if that thy forged lyes might daunt.
But tho I had a thousand proufes,
which would auouch my wordes for south:
They might not serue so shameles thou,
no truth may stop thy lying mouth.
A Papistes gyse is this I find:
the truth with lyes full ouertwhart:
First to assayle with slaunders weyt,
and last he scoldeth out his part.
Of hys leud lyfe I loth to thinke,
to write it all it yerketh me:
Tho young I rather wishe thee mend,
least old thou proue as ill as he.
The Libell.
Thy slaunders all I could confute,
but present tyme will not suffice:
Yet will I somewhat touch his death.
because I saw it with myne eyes.
Thou absent at his death reportest,
his face both blacke and blew:
But all which saw it witnesse can,
how that is most vntrue.
Happy art thou if after death,
God graunt to thee this grace:
To haue thy soule as cleare of hewe,
as was this Byshops face.
A dolefull end (thou sayst) he had,
but there thou lyest as in the rest:
For he persisted still in prayer,
whyle any breath was in his brest.
He cride God mercy for his sinnes,
which he by frailtie had commit:
And armyng hym with signe of Crosse,
hys soule to God he dyd submit.
Reply.
My slaunders all thou couldst confute,
I slaundred not, why doest thou lye?
[Page] Thou lackest tyme, nay truth thou wantst,
thy forged falshode for to try.
If that thyne eye beheld his end,
a wofull sight to thee I feare:
Though absent, I haue heard report,
of honester then thou, euen there.
His keper Waye did it declare,
with other that beheld his ende:
Now if they haue not double tounges,
the truth they told they will defende.
Pray for thy selfe, I am not sicke,
or els a better prayer make:
My soule (I trust) in better hewe,
Christ to his mercy shall betake.
Thou doest this bloudy Boner wrong,
in callyng hym a Byshop still:
For he a beastly butcher was,
the selly Lambes of God to kill.
Tis knowen how long he specheles lay,
yet wouldest thou hide but God will not:
Tho Papistes cloke truth will disclose,
in spite of all their knauish knot.
When speach was gone, ye heard him speake,
and call for mercy at the last:
O shamelesse man thinke on the truth,
and call for helpe ere hope be past.
The Libell.
Dolefull to whom was this hys end,
to thee or him, to thee I smell:
For doubtlesse thou doost stomacke this,
that he should liue and dye so well.
Reply.
And though his death more milder were,
then those his felowes I namde before:
I will not iudge but God doth know,
what wrath he kept for him in store.
The wickednes by you maintaind,
I hate as deuill and deadly foe:
The men I no whit do enuie,
let bloudy Boner and babell go.
The Libell.
As for his buriall in the night,
some malice there was shewde:
And yet vnto hys blessed soule,
what harme therby ensued.
Your castyng hym to homely pit,
in such a theeuish place:
Can hynder hym nothyng at all,
to tast of heauenly grace.
For Christ hym selfe betwene two theeues,
did suffer bitter payne:
Wherby hys glory was increast,
for euer to remayne.
Reply.
It is a blessyng of the Lord,
to dye in peace in natiue land:
And that the fathers graues should hold,
the brethlesse corps once turnde to sand.
But Boner could not that obtaine,
for God did see it was not meete:
And causde the rulers to commaunde,
a worser place, for hym more fit.
Though Christ were erucified with theeues,
yet buryed was in stately tome,
With costly oyntmentes very deare,
such was his heauenly fathers doine.
But though here were a theefe at hand,
no Christ to dye or lye by him:
Wherfore as it behoueth well,
to Sathan loe I leaue his lim.
The Libell.
Now farewell Brooke, and if thou thinke,
for all thy learned skill:
That slaunderyng toung can ought auayle,
then hardly vse it still.
But if thou know the deuill it loues,
and God detestes the same:
Repent for that which thou hast done,
and leaue it now for shame.
FINIS.
Reply.
How ill a trothlesse toung besemes,
in thee I see that doest it vse:
What slaundryng lyps do merite still,
thou doest me learne by thyne abuse.
Repentaunce none nede I to craue,
for ought that I haue done or sayd:
Gaynst thee or bloudy Boner yet,
if that my cause be iustly wayd.
But hauyng cleared all thy doubtes,
and truly aunswered thy demaundes:
I giue thy gyrdes good leaue to grase,
in blacke obliuions heuy laundes.
And thus of hidden name adew,
thy pieuish peale so lewdly rong:
Declares thy kynd for withered fruite,
from rotten stocke hath alwayes sprong.
Thou doest nothyng degenerate,
from Papistes kynd and seede of Baal,
Thy grandsire is great Lucifer,
his sonne the Pope, ye lyers all.
I was in doubt to vse my pen,
in aunsweryng of so vile a beast:
But that I thought my silence should,
thy causelesse pride haue much increast.
Then henceforth know I do disdeyne,
one word to write agaynst thy rime:
For loe, my handes I should but steine,
in touchyng such a peece of slime.
Now rayle and rage in roystyng wise,
now scolde and scoffe thy belly full:
Thy truthlesse toung I force it not,
I leaue thee wholly to thy Trull.
But yet I do besech the Lord,
to mollifie thy stony heart:
To plant repentaunce by his spirite,
and all the Papistes to conuert.
Fare well vntill thy golden day,
wherin I trust without delay:
All such as would their Christ betray. &c.
shall finde a doome and iudgement day.
Fare well.
FINIS.
T. Brooke the younger.