✚ A slanderous Libel (cast abroad) unto an Epitaph set forth upon the death of D. E. Boner, with a Reply to the same lying Libel, by T. Broo.  
❧ Imprinted at London by john day, dwelling over Aldersgate.   

The Libel.  

Who so speaketh that he should not:  
must hear what he would not.   

MArch forth in malice brawling Brook,  
let taunting tongue have no restraint:  
Spew our the worst thou canstinuent,  
against this Boner blessed saint.   

Spare not to speak most slanderous speech,  
against this Prelate dead and gone:  
Declare thyself like furious dog,  
to bite and bark at every stone.    

Reply.  

At length I find thy lies I weigh not:  
Truth bids me answer although I would not.   

NO malice moved hath my mind,  
nor tauntingly the truth I pen:  
No spite did cause me to depaint,  
this Boner saint of Satan's den.   

Where as the devil bears the cross,  
a holy sort it should appear:  
If Boner be a blessed saint,  
then cruel Nero need not fear.   

The slaughter house had open wrong,  
that Boner was a Bishop made:  
And Newgate lost his right that day,  
so skilful he in Baylers' trade.   

No mad brain mood hath me provoked,  
nor Boner dead I ought despite:  
Which thou mightst see with open eyes,  
but Boner like thou hat'st the light.   

But lo from thee now flascheth forth,  
the burning spirit of boner's breast:  
Which wont was in wilful sort,  
the law and truth with wrong to wrest.   

Yet for I heard of some so fond,  
to think that he was wronged much:  
A piece (not all) of his lewd light,  
I thought no shame or sin to touch.   

I could have told the numbers, great  
of vices vile the viper had:  
Whose fury fell and frantic force,  
oft honest hearts with care hath clad.   

And Epitaphs do only serve,  
the wights enthralled by Atropos:  
Which else the same of their deserts,  
or good or bad might hap to lose.   

Some praise the Lawyer's judgements right,  
some vaunt the warriors worthiness:  
Some tell the virtues of the wise,  
some show of boner's blouddynes.   

Not I then like a furious dog,  
in death have savage Boner bit:  
Nor raging I with stormy streams,  
but calmly lo my floods did flit.    

The Libel.  

Thy railing tongue against good men,  
is to well known seven years ago:  
What slanders thou against him heapest,  
if truth were known be nothing so.    

Reply.  

Thou dost me wrong thus to accuse,  
of flaundring any honest man:  
Or now, or seven years ago,  
name thou the wight if that thou can.   

In railing thou art Boner's child,  
in scoffs, in scolds, in slanders vile,  
In liings lewd in Popery,  
it seems thy dame did not beguile.   

Most like thy dad in every point,  
yet bastard none for aught I know:  
Nor maiden Priest as Boner was,  
whose children lived not long ago.   

The infernal spirits do dance for joy,  
to hear this boner's babe thus bawl:  
And falsehood fleeres to find such friends,  
as seek with lies the truth to gall.   

Is this the just reward I have,  
that sought in silence for to hide:  
The half of all his wretchedness,  
which thou mightst shame to hear descried?   

Thou showest thyself even what thou art  
a blessed babe of baalam's brood:  
Not able to maintain thy part,  
in slandering swellest like a toad.    

The Libel.  

The law thou thinkest is on thy side,  
to rail at random as thou listest:  
And for thy slanderous words 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 reprove thou hast no power,  
though serpent like thou subtly hiss.   

This was the practice of the jews,  
to cloak their faults with false report:  
Their cursed cruelty to hide,  
and sinful sects for to support.    

The Libel.  

His virtues rare did thee displease,  
for thieves against just judges speak:  
Till Partha cut his fatal thread,  
thy woeful wrath thou durst not wreak.   

Doth Gospel which thou dost profess,  
teach thee to dip thy pen in gall,  
And so defame such learned men,  
whom virtue doth to honour call.    

Reply.  

Yea more than rare his virtues were,  
for virtue none in him did rest:  
As time did serve I sought to show,  
the vices which I still detest.   

If I in aught have Boner wronged,  
it is in that I not displayed:  
Unto the full his wretched life,  
and Pagan Pagentes that he played.   

But now sith that ye give the cause,  
to th'end you Papists should not think:  
Your lying lips and slanderous words,  
from known truth should make me shrink.   

In plainer sort I justly prove,  
that Boner for his great outrage:  
Did Achab pass and jezabel,  
a Dioclesian of our age.   

And if my verse seem somewhat sharp,  
yet from the truth I will not serve:  
And unprovokte of envies root,  
yield milder words than ye deserve.   

Some thieves against just judges speak,  
so Caiphas did against his Christ:  
But if that thou call Boner just,  
I well can prove thou shamefully liest.   

He oft for meed perverted right,  
a cruel tyrant in his days:  
He bolstered bawdry by his might,  
and simony by romish says.   

And thou dost follow him apace,  
to rail and rave without cause why:  
The things thou canst not justly prove,  
thou fortifiest with a lie.   

With spider's juice thy pen is wet,  
no gospels lore thy tongue doth guide:  
But Pluto or his younglings skill,  
the poisoned Pope high prince of pride.   

By false hypocrisy we see,  
did Boner climb to honour's height:  
And placed there unworthy he,  
all virtues ways despised strait.   

Yet London may his Minotaur,  
his Boner boast for all assays:  
Sith Becket never bred such bale,  
nor half so well the Pope could please.   

Why did ye not shrine him alive,  
Saint Dunstane might have done the deed:  
Sweet samt Frances or Boniface,  
or Belzebub for better speed.    

The Libel.  

We see how thou in Rhetoric roollest,  
as one in Schemes and Tropes expert.  
Frequenting of this figure rare,  
which some men call sauce malapert.   

What truth in preaching thou declarest,  
I am content that other try.  
In this thy work I can affirm,  
that every line contains a lie.   

And every lie so shamefully made:  
sucked out from saucy fingers end,  
That surely some unhappy spirit,  
put to his hand to have it penned.    

Reply.  

Thou and thy Boner bounteles,  
in natures one seem to agree:  
Two happy wombs from whence the sprang,  
the pestilent fruit of poisoned tree.   

What Boner was right well appeared,  
while wasteful will with might was matched:  
Such wouldst thou seem in power placed,  
a bouncing boy of Hydra hatched.   

Thy muse doth march in slanderous sort,  
fond rage doth rule thy beastly brain:  
Cease shameless taunting tongue to toil,  
in boner's case with lies so vain.   

I told a troth why dost thou lie,  
though preacher none to far unfit:  
Forbear to strive against the stream,  
let reason rule thy wreastling wit.   

Thou dost abuse thy figure much,  
that More so meant thou canst not prove:  
It is not sure Saucemalepert,  
a knave of knavery to reprove.   

Thou were but lately at the mill,  
that ground thy lies yet somewhat gross:  
Alas good sir how saucy I,  
the serpent's subtlety to disclose.   

When as the Apostles did reprove,  
the high priests, they were said to scold,  
So I in telling Boner's faults,  
of thee am counted sauces bold.   

But what if I should tell them all,  
then mightst thou have a heavy heart:  
Poor papist sure thou wouldst run mad,  
for why these few do make thee start.   

The spirit that guided hath my pen,  
is tried truth I dare avouch:  
You loath to hear his treachery,  
because such faults yourself do touch.   

If virtue had remained in him,  
or were thy years replete with grace:  
I would have reverenced you both,  
but to brute beasts I give no place.    

The Libel.  

Did he five times with solemn oath,  
his Clxistian faith deny?  
Did he five times renounce the Pope?  
O shameful famous lie.   

Four times belike before his birth,  
he did commit the crime:  
And then the fift thou dost declare,  
was in Lord Cromwel's time.   

And then was he but very young,  
and knew not chalk from cheese:  
Perchance as loath as thou art now,  
promotion for to lose.    

Reply.  

That sundry times he sworn was,  
to maintenance of christian faith:  
His hand doth show forth coming yet,  
but perjured papists this not weigheth.   

First named Archdeacon of Leicester,  
he swore unto King Henry's book:  
Then elect bishop of Hereforde,  
he swore again, the story look.   

Then pastor he of London made,  
against the Pope he took his oath:  
And when our sovereign borne was,  
he did the like know this for troth.   

So at the birth of Prince Edward,  
and at his coronation:  
He swore against the Romish whore,  
and her abomination.   

I leave how stoutly he at Rome,  
defied the Pope unto his face:  
In Scalding lead he had been boiled,  
but that he packed away a pace.   

Thou sayest I made a famous lie,  
but I have proved my words full true:  
From those thy lines is truth exiled,  
as from the rest which do ensue.   

And for his years by thy account,  
full fifty he in Cromwell's time:  
O shamels man the truth appears,  
seek not with lies to hide his crime.   

Thou sayest he lived fourscore and six,  
but thirty one since Cromwell died:  
Then fifty five was Boner's age,  
in Cromwell's time, or thou hast lied.   

No baby then a knavish fool,  
a crafty cloyne as now thou art:  
Thy lines do show how he could claw,  
and for advantage play his part.   

Promotion sure I never chose,  
nor glutted am with worldly pelf:  
But though I all at once should lose,  
yet would I not forswear myself.    

The Libel.  

But after he was grounded once,  
in wisdoms learned school.  
He did perceive and sore repent,  
that he had played the fool.   

And calling then for God his grace,  
for to inspire his heart:  
Persisted still in Christ his faith.  
till death did him departed.    

Reply.  

Thou art deceived he never learned,  
in school by wisdoms sacred lore:  
For to deny the gospel pure,  
which he professed had before.   

But judas like he Christ betrayed,  
a persecuting Saul outright:  
As Cain his sins he did forthincke,  
professing jeroboams spirit.   

And as the dog to vomit turns,  
so Boner leaving wisdoms school:  
To wont lewdness made repair,  
the longer life the greater fool.   

Wherefore the Lord with drew his spirit,  
and gave him up unto his lust:  
Wherein he ran a ruthful race,  
till he returned again to dust.    

The Libel.  

His years on earth with honour spent,  
were three and forty double told:  
But as for thee thou mayst be hanged,  
ere thou be half so old.    

Reply.  

Herein the prince's mercy shines,  
our noble Queen sought not his blood:  
As he did hers maliciously,  
and stubbournely her laws with stood.   

Her clemency a cureless heart,  
she thought in time to truth should turn,  
But vice had virtue chased so,  
that grace by no means might return.   

Full thirty years now have I lived,  
but rather than I would become:  
So quite devoid of shame as he,  
I wish to God for speedy doom.   

But thou pray for thyself I say,  
for when both Pope and hope are past:  
To feel thy wretched bodies weight,  
a rope may serve thy neck at last.    

The Libel.  

Thou sayest that Papists lingering hope,  
in Bishop Boner did depend,  
Which now, sith death did him prevent,  
is come thou trusts to final end.   

Well then I frame this argument,  
a simile to thee again:  
Sith sundry of thy sinful sect,  
by dint of death are slain.   

As calvin pillar of your Church,  
whom you accounted wise:  
In lieu of his false heresy,  
was wearied up with louse.   

Sith Luther, author of your sect,  
whom Satan's schisms fed:  
As drunken sot, with sursetting,  
was dead found in his bed.    

Reply.  

The lingering hope the papists lost,  
was great by Boner's fatal fall:  
If not consumed into care,  
their peevish pride it did appall.   

That papists hoped their watchword shows,  
a due unto the golden day:  
Our God is good who than I trust,  
shall put you papists by your prey. etc.   

Sometime God doth from anger stint,  
he will not beat his children still:  
As when he takes tyrants away,  
which live in hope his church to spill.   

Sometime for people's sins also,  
doth God bereave their pastors true:  
A token of God's wrath to come,  
and his displeasure to ensue.   

So Boner taken away from us,  
fortels the goodness of our God:  
And Luther's death and Caluins both,  
was to those countries then a rod.   

Our Church on no such pillars stands,  
on Christ the rock, our faith is stayed:  
And though such worthy members die,  
our hearts thereby are not dismayed.   

But O thou most infamous wretch,  
I think the very devils of hell:  
Do hide their face for very shame,  
their son so lewd a lie to tell.   

Did Calvin die wearied with lise?  
or like a Lamb with sickness priest:  
Beware lest lise revenge these lies,  
by wrath of God on that thy breast.   

How Martin Luther yielded breath,  
apparent is by good record:  
And such a stately burial,  
hath wanted many a prince and Lord.   

O stiff necked jew that never stentest,  
Christ's followers for to defame:  
With gluttony and drunkenness,  
the troth is known and breeds thy shame.   

But Boner was no surfetor,  
by fast and prayer he pined so:  
That uneath he had an eye to see,  
for fat he scarcely well might go.   

The Imber days he well observed,  
with fish from Sea and running stream:  
And that but base of common sort,  
as Cunger, Brett, Pike, carp, & Breme.   

He fasted oft till hunger came,  
he spared much the poor man's beef:  
With Quail and Partrege he took pain,  
fat Capons were his chief relief.   

In stead of grossest Mutton pies,  
the fattest Venison from park and chase:  
Both hot and cold, and that good store,  
with wine he washed down apace.   

He had a care for Horse and Mule,  
and kept their bran out of his bread:  
On finest manchet that was made,  
alas this silly Boner fed.   

And sith the Thames was somewhat far,  
or Cundite water clear and fine:  
His morning draft was hippocras,  
or else the purest Muscadine.   

For nourishing he loud a Pig,  
et non tam caute but I hear:  
When haughty hearts were hard to have,  
he was content with Fallow Deare. etc.   

He watched when as he could not sleep,  
he prayed that ye might hear him snort:  
In stead of boards on beds of down,  
thus was this pining Prelates hurt.   

To recreate his spirits he used,  
Bowls, Cards, & Tables, all day long:  
And set upon his merry pin,  
could sometime sing a bawdy song. etc.   

But sith thou dost delight to hear,  
of such as died in distress:  
Though Luther and Calvin both were clear,  
lo here at least a mischievous mess.   

Pope Adrian, your blessed sire,  
in breathing threats against a king:  
An ugly Fly with sudden death,  
his holiness at throat did sting.   

The greatest foe that Luther had,  
Eckius yielding up the ghost:  
Did say: four thousand crowns prepared,  
will this dispatch (a jolly boast).   

A heavenly end no doubt he made,  
he had some Cardinalship to buy:  
He thought (as Boner) on his God,  
which forced him thus on him to cry.   

Cardinal Cretensius  
died, with sight of a black dog:  
In ruth ended Bomelius,  
and Thornton that beastly hog.   

jacobus Latomus having made,  
'gainst Luther an oration long:  
Fell strait to desperation,  
and ended so his woeful song.   

Lord Poncher, and Minerius,  
with fire of God were stricken so:  
And while their flesh consumed therewith,  
defied God as mortal foe.   

Our Cardinal Pool in Greenwich house,  
did bless the Dover Suffragan:  
While kneeling down upon the straires,  
received it like a holy man.   

The blessing given the blessed fell,  
down from the stairs his neck he braced:  
I think the devil might have given,  
as good a blessing with less haste.   

These were the patrons of your Church,  
blessed bishops Boner like:  
Great torments of Christ's flock,  
O fear the Lord lest he do strike.    

The Libel.  

Sith Prince of Conde, all your hope,  
your buckler and your shield,  
As traitor false against his Prince,  
was stain in open field.   

The Prince of Orange put to flight,  
with all his band dismayed:  
You heretics must needs confess,  
your courage quite decayed.    

Reply.  

Of noble princes for to write,  
it is to far without my reach:  
But if thou hadst a subjects heart,  
then wouldst thou use more seemly speech,   

Thou showest well thy traitorous mind,  
unto thy prince and native land:  
A rope, a rope for that parot,  
or (Boner's bounty) a fire brand.   

I know the Prince of Conde slain,  
and so your manly Duke of Guise:  
The king of Navarre bid like pain,  
Duke Mommorancy in likewise.   

The Duke of Alba his son is dead,  
what praise his father won that time:  
I do not tell or need not write,  
for why so high I will not climb.    

The Libel.  

Thy slandering him with tyranny,  
in such a spiteful sort:  
Might make some men which knew him not,  
believe thy false report.   

Thou sayest that from the face of some,  
with claws he rend the hear:  
But where, or when, or names of them,  
that canst thou not declare.   

But when gave he reproachful words,  
or such disdainful eyes:  
Unto the Queen's commissioners,  
a whetstone for these lies.    

Reply.  

Thou breathing forth with bashles brow,  
of lewd lies lo a monstrous heap:  
Dost me accuse most wrongfully,  
the shame thereof be sure to reap.   

His tyranny doth so appear,  
again I need it not report:  
How many ways in wilful wise,  
or after what a shameless sort.   

First clapped he men in prison strong,  
till rigorous laws were framed whereby:  
With cloak of right he might consume,  
all such as would not Christ deny.   

The law so made Christ's flock to spoil,  
could Boner's fury nothing suage:  
But that his bloody hands must help,  
them to torment in wilful rage.   

Some with his fist he beat so sore,  
upon the face that swollen black:  
The silly souls condemned to die,  
did bring his mark unto the stake.   

Poor Tomkins hand did Boner burn,  
this tormenter not so content:  
With cruel claws from of his face,  
nigh half his beard the tyrant rend.   

Most Tiger like wi●h Pagan paws,  
the beard of Rough in rage extreme:  
In shameless sort the tyrant tore,  
how blessed he now may ye dame.   

What should I need to name the rest,  
they live that saw it with their eyes:  
Yet falsely thou dost me reprove,  
a mill a mill to grind thy lies.   

Of his reproachful words unmeet,  
the people are not ignorant:  
And lo I would them now recite,  
if that thy forged lies might daunt.   

But though I had a thousand proofs,  
which would avouch my words for south:  
They might not serve so shameless thou,  
no truth may stop thy lying mouth.   

A Papists guise is this I find:  
the truth with lies full overthwart:  
First to assail with slanders weyt,  
and last he scoldeth out his part.   

Of his lewd life I loath to think,  
to write it all it yerketh me:  
though young I rather wish thee mend,  
least old thou prove as ill as he.    

The Libel.  

Thy slanders all I could confute,  
but present time will not suffice:  
Yet will I somewhat touch his death.  
because I saw it with mine eyes.   

Thou absent at his death reportest,  
his face both black and blue:  
But all which saw it witness can,  
how that is most untrue.   

Happy art thou if after death,  
God grant to thee this grace:  
To have thy soul as clear of hew,  
as was this bishops face.   

A doleful end (thou sayest) he had,  
but there thou liest as in the rest:  
For he persisted still in prayer,  
while any breath was in his breast.   

He cried God mercy for his sins,  
which he by frailty had commit:  
And arming him with sign of Cross,  
his soul to God he did submit.    

Reply.  

My slanders all thou couldst confute,  
I slandered not, why dost thou lie?  
Thou lackest time, nay truth thou want'st,  
thy forged falsehood for to try.   

If that thine eye beheld his end,  
a woeful sight to thee I fear:  
Though absent, I have heard report,  
of honester than thou, even there.   

His keeper way did it declare,  
with other that beheld his end:  
Now if they have not double tongues,  
the truth they told they will defend.   

Pray for thyself, I am not sick,  
or else a better prayer make:  
My soul (I trust) in better hew,  
Christ to his mercy shall betake.   

Thou dost this bloody Boner wrong,  
in calling him a Bishop still:  
For he a beastly butcher was,  
the silly Lambs of God to kill.   

'tis known how long he speechless lay,  
yet wouldst thou hide but God will not:  
though Papists cloak truth will disclose,  
in spite of all their knavish knot.   

When speech was gone, ye heard him speak,  
and call for mercy at the last:  
O shameless man think on the truth,  
and call for help ere hope be past.    

The Libel.  

doleful to whom was this his end,  
to thee or him, to thee I smell:  
For doubtless thou dost stomach this,  
that he should live and die so well.    

Reply.  

And though his death more milder were,  
than those his fellows I named before:  
I will not judge but God doth know,  
what wrath he kept for him in store.   

The wickedness by you maintained,  
I hate as devil and deadly foe:  
The men I no whit do envy,  
let bloody Boner and babel go.    

The Libel.  

As for his burial in the night,  
some malice there was showed:  
And yet unto his blessed soul,  
what harm thereby ensued.   

Your casting him to homely pit,  
in such a thievish place:  
Can hinder him nothing at all,  
to taste of heavenly grace.   

For Christ himself between two thieves,  
did suffer bitter pain:  
Whereby his glory was increased,  
for ever to remain.    

Reply.  

It is a blessing of the Lord,  
to die in peace in native land:  
And that the father's graves should hold,  
the brethlesse corpse once turned to sand.   

But Boner could not that obtain,  
for God did see it was not meet:  
And caused the rulers to command,  
a worse place, for him more fit.   

Though Christ were erucified with thieves,  
yet buried was in stately tome,  
With costly ointments very dear,  
such was his heavenly father's doine.   

But though here were a thief at hand,  
no Christ to die or lie by him:  
Wherefore as it behoveth well,  
to Satan lo I leave his limb.    

The Libel.  

Now farewell Brook, and if thou think,  
for all thy learned skill:  
That slandering tongue can aught avail,  
than hardly use it still.   

But if thou know the devil it loves,  
and God detestes the same:  
Repent for that which thou hast done,  
and leave it now for shame.   
FINIS.   

Reply.  

How ill a trothless tongue beseems,  
in thee I see that dost it use:  
What slandering lips do merit still,  
thou dost me learn by thine abuse.   

Repentance none need I to crave,  
for aught that I have done or said:  
'Gainst thee or bloody Boner yet,  
if that my cause be justly weighed.   

But having cleared all thy doubts,  
and truly answered thy demands:  
I give thy girds good leave to graze,  
in black oblivions heavy lands.   

And thus of hidden name adieu,  
thy peevish peal so lewdly rung:  
Declares thy kind for withered fruit,  
from rotten stock hath always sprung.   

Thou dost nothing degenerate,  
from Papists kind and seed of Baal,  
Thy grandsire is great Lucifer,  
his son the Pope, ye liars all.   

I was in doubt to use my pen,  
in answering of so vile a beast:  
But that I thought my silence should,  
thy causeless pride have much increased.   

Then henceforth know I do disdain,  
one word to write against thy rhyme:  
For lo, my hands I should but stain,  
in touching such a piece of slime.   

Now rail and rage's in roisting wise,  
now scold and scoff thy belly full:  
Thy truthless tongue I force it not,  
I leave thee wholly to thy Trull.   

But yet I do beseech the Lord,  
to mollify thy stony heart:  
To plant repentance by his spirit,  
and all the Papists to convert.   

Far well until thy golden day,  
wherein I trust without delay:  
All such as would their Christ betray. etc.  
shall find a doom and judgement day.   
Far well.  
FINIS.  
T. Brook the younger.