A Complaynt agaynst the wicked enemies
of Christ in that they have so tyrannusly handled the poore Chrystians.
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ALas what grefe is this
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unto all chrysten men:
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That tirants stil do raine
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to worke mischeif agen.
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They prosper in the land,
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whose practyse late hath bene,
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Both to destroy our realme
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and Elisabeth our Quene.
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How dyd they Tower her
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and kept her there in thrall,
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When they could not charge her
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with any cryme at all.
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But they beyng thyrsty
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woulde fayne have suckt her bloud,
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For when thei put her there
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they ment her grace no good
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Whiche was the prelates fetche
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for why thei stode in awe,
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That if her grace did raygne
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she would reject ther Lawe.
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Wherfore this cursed sorte
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dyd geve many a saye,
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To take her in a tryppe
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to make her cleane away.
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Such ympes of Sathans kynde
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do stand and florysh styll,
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Whiche do suppresse all truth
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and do maynteine al yll.
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For they have spoild this realme
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and made it very Poore
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They brought in Foren power
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to Turne us out of doore.
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Suche fruteles trees do growe
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they spred abrode and stande,
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Whose cursed Branches lyve
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and do Corrupt the lande,
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For when the Olyve trees
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and eke the plesaunt Vynes
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Did bringe us forth good frutes
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and delectable wines.
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They sharpened theyr Toles
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to cut them by the grounde,
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That they might springe no more
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nor never more be founde.
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For sume they brinte with fyer
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and some agayne they pinde,
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And sum they tare and rackt
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and sum remayne behinde.
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Againe this cursed sorte
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dyd scrape out of the moulde
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The carkes of the dead
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and many mo they woulde.
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Yf tyme had servde theyr turne
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according to ther trust,
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Kynge Harry and his sunne
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had both ben Burnt to duste,
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Doth it not nowe appeare
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what love and eke what seale
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They had unto our Kinges
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that Rulde our common weale.
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Howe did they raile on them
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in pulpettes every where,
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With vyle opprobrious termes
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and that without all feare.
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Alas that suche should lyve
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that seke all to destroy,
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Suche members woulde be ryd
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that do nothinge but noye,
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For where they hunt to spoile
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ther natures can not sease,
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Tyll they have murdred those
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that be the sunnes of peace.
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Alas I rue it muche
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that suche Pypicked pates
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Shoulde be about a Quene
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or come within her gates.
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Ther counsels be corrupt
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for they smel al of bloude,
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Ther practys be all yll
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how can they then be good,
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Who can or will commende
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this charitie of preistes,
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That be suche murtherers
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and have suche blodye fystes.
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Howe coldly doo they praye
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for Elisabeth our quene,
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Ther doinges have ben heard
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ther practys have bene sene.
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O cursed sede of Cayne
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and members of the Devill
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All destitute of grace,
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replenished with evyll.
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Who love the name of you,
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but suche as ye do brybe,
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O ye blinde balamites
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o vyle and cursed Trybe,
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The infantes in the wombe
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have cause to Curse your sede,
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And eke the fatherles
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for your accursed dede.
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Howe many live this day
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whose Parentes ye have kilde,
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And turned ther Children out
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into the stretes and filde.
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Ther to lye and pyne
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and sayd that it was Synne
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Eyther to geve them foode
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or els to take them in.
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What pitie were it nowe
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to tosse and to turne them,
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To hewe them in peces
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to Broyle and to burne them.
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To fle them from the Croune
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to the soules of theyr fete.
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To trye if suche tormentes
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be Pleasaunt and swete.
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And specially Bonner
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the fier woulde fayne tast him,
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But burne him it coulde not
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his grece wolde so Bast him.
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Wolde god it might trye him
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for if that day were cume,
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Many handes would be redy
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to geve Fyer to his Bum.
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That smithfelde might smel him
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and here the tyrauntes voice,
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That fatherles Children
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and infantes might Rejoyce.
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Whose fathers and mothers
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this tyraunt hath furthered,
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To be cruelly burnt
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and most shamefully murthred,
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O trayterus tyrant
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o false perjured Best,
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Thy broylinge and burning
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is knowen and manifest.
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And all thy tyrannes
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which thou hast frequented
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And also hast practyst,
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and lewdly invented.
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How hast thou tried them
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with torche and with taper
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Burning their handes and feete
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to make them to waver.
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Yea how didst thou stock them
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o murtherus thefe,
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Ther necke there handes and feete
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onlye for their beleif.
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Both within thy Cole house
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and in the lollers tower,
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The poore and simple men
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had many a sharpe shower.
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Through thy good counselers
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Clunnye and John avales,
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These are the two rake helles
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that brought the all the tales.
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How were the poore lodgyd,
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how were their bellys fedde.
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With hunger and Coulde
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and stones to rest ther hed.
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Alas what beastes are they
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that lurke under that wede,
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Are they not Raveninge wolves
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judge them by ther deed.
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What injurie were it nowe
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to rid those blody bestes,
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That seketh frendship now
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with monye and with festes,
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Now thei have spoild our realme
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they fere and stand in dout,
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If briberie helpe them not
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then will ther knavery out
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But god for his mercy
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sease the blody streme,
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And graunt that his glory
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may florishe in our Realme.
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