Heare Followeth Certaine Vearses Made Upon The
Poem
229
Heare followeth certaine vearses made upon the
death of this aforesaid Author Roger Brierley:
by William Aglin: minister
Some covereth close that misterye soe rare.
Some makes a shew as he the same would bare.
Some nimbles at the keye to let us see
that love soe cleare, and some will busye bee
by Imitation, for to brust in sunder[burst asunder]
that cloudye darknes, and for that will thunder
and batter downe the gate, that soe we may
looke on that bosome, but loe there a stay.[lo!]
When he would breake it, he doth binde it fast;
thereat we wonder, and we are agast.[aghast]
We home returne with emptye hartes, alas,
the heavye tydeings now are come to pass.
We prize that more which then we hearetofore
we would not have. Loe, brought unto our doore,
a feast of fined wines with lovely bread,[fine]
before the hungrie he did daly spread.
To every one he did distribute then
their owne due portion, though five thousand men
weare present there, and yet enough behinde;
Yea, twenty baskests. Now alas my minde[baskets]
Is greeved in mee, when as from doore to doore
I see them wander, even the heavenly poore,
heare they get a trubled answer, there
a moulded crust, and some put them in feare
by setting them in gibbets and in stocks;
and some in Irons fast their sences locks.
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The mothers, pineing, waile and weepe and crye.
The Children fainting in the streetes doe lye.
The bread is gone, the fruite is fallne away.
The wine and oyle is come into decay.
That mightye man is dead, and soe the dole
is done, alas, both in the parte and whole.
How many came to thee, a fountaine faire,
to drinke thy wine? How many did repaire
unto thy courtes to feed upon thy bread,
hungrye and thirsty, yea, and ill bestead,
but went away with wonderfull content,
blessing the lord that ever he was sent
to be their feeder, and they home returne
to their owne countrye, wherein they weare borne.
Poem
In strengh of that same pot of water they
inabled have beene, long and many a day
to walke, and goe not feeleing any wante,
nor that their mortell waxing less or scant.
For as is said, he that doth drinke the wine
or water of the Christall streame devine
shall never thirst againe; but now we goe
from streame to streame, but they are mudded soe
that we cannot abide to drinke thereon.
It’s souered soe, yea and the taste is gone.[soured]
They mixe it with the vayne conceate of man[vain conceit]
the bread they poyson, that noe creature can
taist one small morsell, but a deadly sting
within his belly presently doth wring.
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It makes my Children sicke, nay many dye.
My bellye, O my belly, they doe crye.
Where is that wine, where is that wholesome bread?
Give me the rest or else I am but dead.
My flesh begins to waist and weare away.
My skin is dride, my strengh it doth decay.
My blood is waisted and my painting harte[?panting]
lyes beateing in me, and would faine Imparte
to all my members, but the wells are drye,
and I alas by hunger needs must dye.
Death underneath it lyes, year[n]ing for mee,
from whose foule teeth saved I cannot bee.
Out of his mouth a fyerye flame did flye.[fiery]
Upon the beast he powerd it desparately,
and on his kingdome, and did make them gnawe
their tongues for sorrow. Nether did they knowe
how to avenge themselves, for armed hee
stood in the feild. Truth and sinseritye,
faith a good conscience, peace and gentlenes,[?and]
patience and love, with sober quietnes;
these weare is armour peeces, and his sword,[?his]
was that unspotted, guiltles, perfect word
of God. His darte it was with fyerye steele
soe poynted sharpe and sent with fyery zeale.
They never went out from his valyant arme.
But still there was a shoote, a great alarme;
upon his side, his darte with blood was dyde,
when from their liver, whither they did slide,
Poem
232
they weare outdrawne, the burning sword also
through liver, harte, and gaull did fearcly goe,[gall did fiercely go]
till they did turne their backs and durst not stay,
like th’Ephramites cryde out and ranne away.
This one brast through the hoast and water drewe,[burst through the host]
and brought it back, sweet, fresh, and also new,
to David, and in their wrath, and despite
his Innocence, did keepe him safe and right,
that not a wound he had. God by his power
did him defend, and gard him every hower.
Satan, that ramping beare, did crye and yell;[rampant]
false and unhallowed acts on him did tell,
against the weakest parte of his consortes,
and in his absence pulled downe his fortes,
and layd them naked to his cursed band.
They weare not able him for to withstand.
He tooke them captive and did lead them out
to Babilon, and there he did them floute.
Where’s now your God wherein you trusted soe?
Where is the captanite, where is he now?[?captain]
But yet for all this, when that Champion stoute
did see this matter, how it went aboute,
like Sampson he himselfe began to chafe
all their forces quite in sunder brake.
He brought them out, [?]Mager his deadly foe
and caused him by force to let them goe.
He led them to the forte and locked fast
a doore on them that evermore should last,
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never to brust in sunder: Jerusalem
into the streets whereof he gatherd them.
But now alas, our Champion he is gone
to helpe and to defend us there is none.
None hath that force, none hath that carrage stoute,
none can resist that dreadfull hideous route.
They make a shoute with roareing voyces, and
like men of warr in battell ray they stand.[battle array]
They promise libertye to them they lead,
and captives are themselves. This giddy head
thinks none soe stoute, blinde by and like, till hee
fall in the snare and all his companye.
Therefore Ismaell lament and mourne,
your mirth into great griefe and sorrow torne.
Poem
Crye unto God that he would not forsake
his poore weake flocke, but now some pittye take
of helpeles Captives. O mee thinke I see,
that dreadfull skirmish, and that misserye
that now will be, when Satan at his will
doth burne the houses and the dwellers kill.
Like Eden now they are before his face;
behinde him, like a wildernes: the grace
of all their glorye given to the hand
of deadly foes. O black and ugly band,
they’le plucke the babes from mother tender teates.
Other the braynes of them in sunder beates.
Their mothers in the fyer they will cast
to make their husbands hartes thereat agast.
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That spirituall bondage, death and deadly feare,
for want of such a captaine will be neare.
The lord is able by his arme alone
us to defend, but when he sendeth none
us to deliver, it argues then that hee
hath his forken for Impietye.[forsaken]
Some nouble Captaine lord we pray the send;[thee]
give him thy power. Rise, Lord, us to defend.
Who can resist, who can lift up his head,
when as his captaine stout is falne and dead?
Our hartes doe melt, our strengh is also gone.
We sincke in our affliction as a stone.
We noething sought, we gathered not the prey.
Now, sigh, we turne our backs and runne away
O father deare, rise as in tymes of ould.
Still guide thy people; lead them to thy fould.
Teach some to fight, that he may take the place
of him that fought it out with such a grace.
Soe shall we bless thee and together hould
in thy sweet battells, carrage full and bould.[battels = provisions]
With fullers sope he washt the leaprous skin
from that pollution it was wrapped in,
not leaveing ought that might offencive bee
unto the soule. There did he clearely see
the deepe deceipt of man’s corrupted minde,
seekeing the bottome of the same to finde.
He lookt into the very harte, intent,
and from the very deepe thereof did rent
that sinfull spott, and with many a crye
besought the saintes themselves for to denye
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and let them wash and route and sweepe away
that foule abomination every day.
Was this his taske; but now alas they runne
in their bad courses as they have begunne.
Smooth as an aple, outwardly apeareing
their conscience; inward, heavy burdens beareing.
None findes them out, none can controule the thought,
and soe into destruction they are brought.
Not he the worker, but the Instrument,
by which the same was done: therein he spent
his very harte, the cryes of love did teare
his crasye bodye, yet with eaten feare
he did continue till his race was runne
ending his course even as he had begunne.
O heavye leaden hartes, weepe oute againe
and let your mouerning teares runne downe amaine.[amain = violently, vigorously]
That which you had err this at your owne will[ere]
is pluckt away, yet God remaineth still
just in his judgements, wise, for he doth know
the ways of wicked men, the just alsoe;
th’one to reward with everlasting pleasure,
th’other cast in paines withouten measure.
When I remember that first mightye call
of that great watchman, and did see them all
from every quarter come both rich and poore,
blinde, lame, withered; great and mighty store
of wise and learned multitudes of men
came hasteing to that place apoynted then
for cost they carde not, lengh of the way
was then noe burden, wandering every day
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to those faire courtes, unto the voyce soe sweete
where all that companye in one did meete
Then said I in my harte God will home bring
his wandring sheepe. Then did my bowells sting
for joyfullnes, trusting they would abide
still in the way and never turne aside.
Some waxed wearye of that jorney long.
Some of that truth did make a mocking song.
Some fought to catch him and for to betray
that Innocent, and some, the truth to say,
would not forsake their wallowing in the myer,
and fill their wicked hartes of their desyer.
Poem
He stoud upon his watch most constantly.
Both night and day he did himselfe apply
In all that companye to bring to rest
the humble harte, yea, and the minde opprest.
The rest he winnowed out, and would not give
them place among the Saints, though they did live
even in the courte of Christ, and for this thing
many fell away and went wandring
till few was left behinde, which gave a blowe,
his carrage almost quite to overthrowe.
Yet God did helpe him and againe restore
those wearied spirits for to seeke him more.
When they had proved all to come to nought,
wherein they freedome or contentment sought,
he led them to the rivers faire and cleare
and guided them without all dread or feare,
and gave them rest in Christ the corner stone,
with him to dwell, yea, even with him alone.
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When all this I doe call into my thought,
and how the same is now to ending brought,
my bowells turne within me and I crye
woe and alas that fearefull misserye
when all these things shall cease and coverd bee
with dreadfull darknes and obscuritye.
O Lancashire, in thee where shall we finde
rest for our soules, contentment for our minde?
Our eyes to thee ward many a day hath beene.[?towards thee]
Great wonders also in thee we have seene.
In thy faire highe wayes joyefully we walked
and of thy happines we daly talked.
We thanke thee for the freedome thou didst give
to us, and will requite thee if we live
to have the like for thee, but now fairewell.
Thou hast noe houpe nor noe milke to sell
thy dearth is come, thy corne is withered,
thy fruite is fallen, thy flowers they are dead,
thy lively wellsprings seased have to runne,
the day is past, O setting is thy sonne.
Thou hadst a pretious pearle, yet some in thee
set him at nought, but now alas we see
him layd in peace, but trouble thyne begins
it may be feared it is for thy sinns.
Poem
237
If Chorazin was curst, Bethsaida upbraid
by Sodom, as our Saviour Christ hath said,
and Gommorah was in better plight,
then they where all those miracles did light,
take heed least thou, thy bright and shining day,[lest]
nay candlesticke and all, be swept away
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Beware least thou now pay too deare for bread
and fetch it farr, I feare me thou may tread
and wander farr before thou finde a spring
of living water alwayes powering.
O that in these thy dayes thou hadst but seene
thy visitation and had thankfull beene.
I doe not envie that, I raither sing
in these my verses of thy sorrowing.
I’le be a mouerner with thee and I pray
that God may send thee yet another day
of gladnes, and thy children all may see
a second light, Just in the same degree
that it be soe. God of his mercye send
thee rest, and thy life soone for to amend,
and also grant our eyes may not behould
dross and founding brass stead of perfect gould.
O father deare, sith thou art dead and gone,[since]
to comforte us thy children there are none.
We sate before thee and did heare thy voyce.
Thy honye lipps did make our hartes rejoyce.
Thou gave us bread with spiced wine at will,
new from the grape, and made us drinke our fill.
We fed our soules. We rose in sweet content
to sporte our selves, thyne eyes to us was bent.
Thou cloathed us with robes of perfect dye,
white and unspotted, noe hipocrisye
found we in thee, nor wanted we that thing
that joye and comforte unto us might bring
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But now alas our father he is gone,
we succurless, forsaken, all alone,
to seeke our bread constrayned we shall be
with many cryes and dolefull miserie.
Poem
Instead of fyned wines and bloody redd,
most bitter water, and as for our bread,
of purest wheaten flower that could be had,
is now of pulse, corrupt and twise as bad,
mingled with gaull. Our garments that weare white,
of trimmed silke to give our mindes delite,
are turned now to hayrecloath, rough and torne,
tattered and all to ragged peeces worne,
not able for to save our naked skinne
from shamefull sight. This plight we now are in
for loss of thee; our beds that weare of downe,
with linnen sheetes soe pleasantly bestrowne,
soft pillowes whereupon to rest our heades.
Into thy pallace faire thou didst us lead,
where musicke sweet was tuned every day,
where scecretly we did rejoyce and play.
Our downye beds are now of flintye stone.
Soft matts from underneath our feete are gone.
Our pillowes now of thorne; instead of rest
they pricke us deepe into the very brest.
Instead of musicke sweete, loe fearefull cryes
of every kinde of dolefull misseries.
O tender father, O that ever wee
these dayes of sorrow should abide to see.
If thou hadst lived, suerly none of these
deepe sorrowes would have hitt us; rest and ease
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was of noe price with us, when we had thee.
Now feele we nought but want and misserye.
O lord, our eyes we turne them to thy throne,
we succurles, forsaken, thus alone.
Thou arte a father to the fatherles
and hearest Infants in their heavines.
Thou only lord arte he that can releeve
and in our wants a sweete refreshing give.
Thy blessed name, O lord, still magnifye.
Remember th’envye of the enemye.
Let thy faire kingdome never sease to shine
in brightest glorye of thy truth devine.
Perfect thy will, O lord, it’s alwayes right,