The cruel assault of Gods Fort.
|
BY Edward the sixt, of England kyng,
|
A Fort was made gods truth to shield
|
In whose lyfe time/ by good rulyng,
|
Both friend and foe to it dyd yelde.
|
But when for synne of hys owne flocke,
|
The Lord in wrath tooke him away:
|
Leaving the Fort to his next stocke/
|
The enmies then sought out theyr pray.
|
Then blew up trumpets of Papists sounde
|
Souldiers to call/ and wages gave:
|
Come who so would/ was armed rounde,
|
None they refusde, but drest them brave.
|
The field was pytcht of Papists part,
|
With corned caps, tippets, and gownes.
|
Theyr ordnaunce lay redy in cart,
|
To beat the fort of gods truth downe.
|
The generall Gardner / brave and stout
|
And Captaine Boner, marcht foorth amain,
|
Bourne with standerd, cryed out,
|
Al arme/ al arme, our shavelinges traine.
|
The Auncient which that Bourne bare/
|
Were fierce wolves teeth, with blood besprent
|
Fire and Fagot, whych did declare,
|
Their ravenous hartes to Christians ment.
|
Then doctour Martin, as clarke of army
|
With Doctour Story, the master Gonner:
|
These two in office, were as trusty,
|
As Gardner, Bourne/ or byshop Bonner.
|
A cry was made, throughout the host:
|
With fire and hempe, all to destroy:
|
Where ever they were, in al the cost,
|
That dyd the Popes power seke to noye.
|
The Fort thus sieged on every syde,
|
With crye so fierce, to kyll them all:
|
A forte for feare durst not abyde,
|
But from Gods Fort to them dyd fall.
|
Then might ye heare the Canons rore/
|
Which Bourne and Watson falsely shot:
|
Yelde, yeld these cryde, from heretickes lore
|
Or batter we shal/ both wall and fort.
|
No/ no (quoth they within the Fort)
|
We yelde us not Gods truth to stayne:
|
Though you destroy us in this sort/
|
God shal our Fort/ wyth force maintayne.
|
Wyth that they all the Fort wythin/
|
Wyth sighes and sobs to God out cryde:
|
Thou Lord of hostes, way not our synne,
|
But ayde thy flocke so wo betyde.
|
For though with sinne, we causde this day
|
That our good king you shouldst thus take:
|
Yet Lord with bitternes of soule we pray,
|
Strength us against this firye lake.
|
This done they blowde a chereful blast,
|
Unto the souldiers in the Fort:
|
Arme ye/ arme ye, in all the hast,
|
Our enmies now to Fort resort.
|
The Auncient which was spred on wall,
|
Had a white Lambe, with red spots thicke:
|
And in gold letters were these wordes all,
|
Why do ye Sauls, against me kicke?
|
Forth came Rogers, Hooper & Sanders
|
Upon the walles the Fort to fende:
|
We yelde not (said they) to such destroyers,
|
But fight we will unto the ende.
|
To these Steven Gardner, gave onset,
|
And layde on lode, as wolfe on pray:
|
He tooke them prisoners, with his false net/
|
And sent them to the fire straightway.
|
Then Story the maister of the shot/
|
On Papists rampire brave and proude:
|
For spilling bloud he cared not,
|
Assault/ assault he cryde aloude.
|
These were no sooner of the wall,
|
But up lept Rydley and Latimer:
|
To rescue Gods fort, so nere to fall.
|
And did with force, the foes encounter.
|
And bishop Cranmer/ though with gyle,
|
The enmies stole him from the Fort:
|
Yet boldly fought with them a whyle,
|
And folowed his mates, in lyke sort.
|
Then doctour Weston, at these out shot,
|
The pellets of Rome, and them did mayme:
|
So that away they passed not,
|
But were destroyed with fire and flame.
|
But Bradford then on wall up lept,
|
And Philpot eke by hym did stand:
|
Cardmaker and Taylour also up crept,
|
And these by truth dyd noy theyr band.
|
Bishop Boner, on these laide hand,
|
And to Smithfield sent them in hast:
|
But to the death/ these did withstand,
|
And would not yeld to enmies blast.
|
Then blewe the Papists to assault,
|
And set a watch about the Fort:
|
Of knightes and yemen to finde some fault/
|
To make them yelde after this sort.
|
And sworen men in every cost,
|
They did compell to watche and spye:
|
If any did resist their host/
|
They must present them for to dye.
|
The Fort with enmies laid round about,
|
And al the captaines so cruelly slaine:
|
The soldiours therof with courage stout,
|
Kept yet the walles with might and maine.
|
Now scale the walles (quoth Boner then)
|
Behold the captaines we have slaine:
|
Ransacke the Fort/ destroy all men/
|
Both wemen & children let none remaine,
|
Then scaling lathers were up rearde,
|
And John Auales on them with targe:
|
His knees had crosses because he fearde,
|
The steps wold breake and hang him large
|
Up came Beard, by Vales his man/
|
Armed al round as dronkardes use:
|
His head was closde, with good ale can/
|
And in his hand a Taverners cruse.
|
But they in Fort/ did with them play/
|
And cast them bribes, which made them yelde,
|
They striving who should have the pray,
|
Fought one with other in their owne fielde.
|
Yet battred was this Fort full sore/
|
With vehemrnt shot on Papists part:
|
The walles they bet styl more and more/
|
But yet the fortmen would not start.
|
Then pusshed the Papists with their pikes,
|
The Hargabusses shot out amayne:
|
And dyms the ayre and many strikes/
|
Of them that did the Fort sustayne.
|
The Holberts and the Bowmen eke,
|
Came preasing toward the Fort with spede:
|
These were the rakehels that did seke,
|
To have mens goodes playde Cains dede.
|
There might ye see the Fort about
|
Great streames of bloode & bodies slayne.
|
The handes of al the host throughout,
|
With blood of Saints they did them staine.
|
In this assault the infants out cryde,
|
And eke their mothers as wydowes left,
|
To see theyr friendes before them dyde/
|
And al their goodes from them bereft.
|
Though thus the Fort, was almost gone,
|
By cruel assault of enmyes bolde:
|
Yet some within the Fort alone,
|
To God did crye / Lord keepe thy holde.
|
Then God did send his slave Death down
|
Into the Papists host among:
|
Which slew the chiefest in all the towne/
|
And greatest captaines in the throng.
|
By thys great stroke of mighte Jove,
|
The vehement force of Papists fell:
|
And sent this Fort (which is hys Love)
|
A godly captaine to keepe it well.
|
Which when in Fort she did appere/
|
And flag of truce spred in her hand:
|
Aloud she cried, cease nowe your yre/
|
And yelde to me right heyre of England:
|
Then scattred were the Papists host/
|
Their flags of fire to ground did fall.
|
Their flaming brandes which oft they tost,
|
Were clene out quentch at our Quenes call.
|
Crye was then made to God on hye/
|
Of al the souldtours in the Fort:
|
Oh praise the Lorde for victorye,
|
In helping us after this sort.
|
Now yelde (they cried) our brethren dere,
|
Which have against Gods truth so stoode:
|
Behold our Quene doth profer here,
|
To graunt ye peace to chaunge your moode.
|
Which if her clemencie you refuse/
|
And pleade not for your lives graunt:
|
The law of armes she must nedes use/
|
On such as are to her repugnaunt.
|
Yelde, yelde therefore ye chiefe captaines
|
Example geve to all your host:
|
Or els wyll God revenge with paines/
|
The bloud of those whom ye have rost.
|
And all ye Christians of this England/
|
Your trumpets sound to Gods hie praise,
|
On Gods head let a Bay garland/
|
For your triumphe of all these fraies.
|
Yeld now your lives after such sort,
|
As God may not this Fort so plage.
|
Strength now your selves in this gods fort
|
That ye yelde no more to enmies rage.
|
So God wil spare us our Quene long,
|
So God will make our land encrease:
|
So God wyl builde our fort so strong,
|
That no enmies dare to it prease.
|
|
|
|
|
|