%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> An Epitaphe declaryng the lyfe and end / of D. Edmund Boner &c. Broke, Thomas University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1569-1569 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/30/2012 32094

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

S121720 LO now the lingering hope is past, / that late the Papistes had: Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 18275 An Epitaphe declaryng the lyfe and end / of D. Edmund Boner &c. An Epitaphe declaryng the lyfe and end of D. Edmund Boner etc. An Epitaph declaring the life and end of D. Edmund Bonner etc. Broke, Thomas Printer Iohn Daye 1569-1569

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LO now the lingering hope is past, that late the Papistes had: Their braggyng brests which boild in hate, their hartes with care have 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 providence 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 favorer, and did professe the troth: Defiyng Pope and Popishnes, five 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, usurpyng state, reprochefull unto God: Of England eke a very spoyle, to Christ his flocke a rod. He names the Pope a greedy wolfe, he joyes 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 divers of the same, it semed of godly zeale: For to be plast within Paules Church, Christes truth for to reveale. He causde five hundred Testamentes, be Printed, this I know: And those as precious jewels did, upon his frendes bestow. But as a wavering 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 judgd him giltles quite: He causd another Quest be cald, and him condemnd by might. Thus drave 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 justice 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 perverst 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 never seene. And lyke a roaring Lion he, of Plutoes poysoned band: Made havocke of the saintes of God, his Christ he did withstand. He trode his gospell under 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 move: His broyling brest enflamed so, with popish fathers love. 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 upon 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 move his mynde, for witte gave place to will: Both grace and reason fled him fro, his hart was hardened still. But when God of his providence, 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 usde unreverently, with scoffes in mocking wise: Her graces high Commissioners, both worthy, grave, and wise. So when the people prayd for him, reprochefull wordes he gave: Most vile, not christianlike, as one that had a soule to save. The second tyme to prison brought, where he his lyfe did leave: Where learned men persuaded him, unto the truth to cleave, And flie the fancies of the fonde, wherwith he was abusde: Unwilling still to heare them speake, good Councell he refusde. So that untill his dying houre, he shewed no perfect signe: Of a repentaunt hart or mynde, that would from sinne decline. But as he livde a lothed lyfe, unconstant, 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) Even so his ende was dolefull to, wherin did well appeare: On him the judgement just 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 crave: He wild his wretched Corps with pompe, brought should be to the grave. Unto the Church whereas sometyme, a Prelate plast was he: Even there his solemne obsiquies, and funerals to be. But sith it was so farre unmeete, a place for him more fitt: Within the Churchyard of S. George, he hath a homely pitt. And sith he loved 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 Judgementes of the Lord, which will you els devoure. Recant ye all your heresies, and leave your perverse way: Wherin you walkt so stubburnely, so long and many a day. Love God, obey your soveraine, and pray for her estate: Renounce ye all your Maummetry, least ye repent to late.
Finis. T. Bro. the younger. Imprinted at London, by John Daye, dwellyng over Aldersgate. Cum gratia & Privilegio Regiae Majestatis.