Verse > Anthologies > Edward Farr, comp. > Elizabethan Poetry
Edward Farr, ed.  Select Poetry of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth.  1845.
CXXVI. John Phillip
          From “A Frendly Larum, or faythfull warnynge to the trueharted subiectes of England. Discoueryng the actes and malicious myndes of those obstinate and rebellious Papists that hope (as they term it) to haue theyr golden day.”

WHAT 1 meanes the ragynge mindes
  Of cruell carelesse sorte,
To raunge with rage, whose chollor hot
  They deeme a sweete disporte?
Or why do Papistes mutter so        5
  In euery corner now
Such tidinges straunge, as scarsly they
  In triall dare auow?
Their tongues to tell forth lies
  They dayly do imploy;        10
To sclaunder truth and godly men
  They take exceeding ioy.
As rechlesse forth they raunge,
  Regarding nought at all;
Some liue in hope againe to see        15
  The worship of God Baall.
And still they boast therof,
  As peruerse Papistes will:
They spit their poison where they please,
  As Hydra’s whelps full ill.        20
And here they prie, and there they spie,
  Their equals forth to finde;
And oft in Paules they parley forth
  Their spiteful cankered minde.
Yea, still they talke of newes,        25
  And then their mindes they say:
But partinge then, “Adew,” saithe one,
  “Unto the golden day:
“When wee shall haue our wils
  And purpose come to passe;        30
And eke enioy, as wee doo wish,
  Our long-desired masse.
“And then shall goe to wracke
  The broode that Luther bred:
Olde custome shall supplie the Churche,        35
  Whiche errour now hath fed.”
Thus prate they as they liste,
  In secret muttringe sorte;
Not basshing suche pernitious talke
  To parley and reporte.        40
Some wish the Basan bull
  Might haue the rulinge sway;
Who (as they boast) shall them restoare
  Unto there golden day.
Some wish the waueringe Moone        45
  Might quite eclips the Sunne:
And thus before their wittes, wee see,
  Some Papistes’ tounges doo runne.
Some wish the redcombde bird might crow,
  And beare away the game:        50
But yet his combe may hap be cut,
  For practisinge the same.
And longe this sauage crewe
  Of Bonner made account,
To throne of London’s rule againe        55
  In golden day should mount;
Who then would make our Protestants
  The cuckoe’s songe to singe;
Or els with faggottes’ fine flames
  To ruine them to bringe.        60
But God berefte their hope,
  Which vainely fed their minde:
And unto his elected churche
  A pleadge of loue assinde.
For when they bragged most        65
  To haue there golden day,
Then God by death did ouerthrowe
  The piller of their staye.
And then they hunge their heades,
  As men that wanted braynes;        70
And sobbingly did shewe by sighes
  Their straunge tormenting paynes.
Some then were drownd in deepe dispaire,
  That longe in hope did liue:
Yea, some did showe with streames,        75
  What griefe his death did giue.
Thus were the Papistes drencht
  In fluddes of flowinge woe:
As plainely men might see and vew
  By their externall shoe.
*      *      *      *      *      *
But harke! ye Balaams blind,
  Of popish saincts ye bee;
The darknesse with cleare light
  At no time can agree.
Can Christe and Belliall loue?        85
  Can truth a falsehood bee?
Or shall the goates expulse the lambes
  From heaven? confesse to mee.
No more can you his sainctes,
  The flocke of God, deface;        90
Ne yet his pardon graunt to you
  In heauen a resting-place.
But yet if cursed cruell Cain,
  Which shed iust Abel’s blood,
For homicide shall winne the heauens,        95
  Then Christ shall doo you good.
If Arius, that heretique,
  Enioy felicitie;
Then shall your pope, and you his sainctes,
  Which are as ill as he.        100
If Iudas for betraying Christe
  Shall raigne in heauen on hie;
So shall the pope, and you his sainctes;
  I can it not denie.
If Mahomet, that prophete false,        105
  Eternitie doo gaine;
Then shall the pope, and you his sainctes,
  In heauen be sure to raigne.
If Julius Apostata
  With Christe a place possesse;        110
So shall the pope, and you his sainctes;
  Of force I must confesse.
But harke! prepare your eares to heare
  What tidinges I shall tell:
As these for their most wicked liues        115
  Did sincke downe into hell;
So shall the pope and all his saincts,
  Unlesse they doo repent,
Receiue like hyre, when Christ from heauen
  To iudge us shal be sent.        120
For none more prone then he
  The truthe for to withstand;
And none more apte then are his saincts
  To take the sworde in hand,
To fight against God’s heauenly truth,        125
  And those that loue the same:
Such zeale haue they vnto the drosse
  That peltinge popes did frame.
What truth their doctrine hath,
  Is easie for to trie:        130
A man may iudge the fruites thereof,
  That hath but halfe an eie.
*      *      *      *      *      *
But God from heauen with vengeance hot
  This monster vile will blast;
Yea, he will breake the crewe        135
  Of all the popish brood,
That hope to haue a golden day
  To shed more martyrs’ bloud.
Yea, Christ wil swage the greedy thirst
  Of cruell carelesse Cain,        140
Which persecute his members still,
  And put his saincts to paine.
He will not leaue his Churche
  To languish in distresse,
Though he permit some tirants still        145
  Hir children to oppresse:
But as a faithfull husband sure
  He doth his Church regard,
And at the last amidst his wrath
  His foes will sure reward.        150
Yea, he will breake the jawes
  Of antichrist so wood,
Which greedely his woluish thirst
  Doth quench with martyrs’ bloud.
*      *      *      *      *      *
Then thinke ye, papists prowd,        155
  The mighty God doth sleepe,
Because ye scape unplagued yet,
  That kill his simple sheepe?
No! God beholds your rage,
  He sees his people’s griefe;        160
And, to decay your force in time,
  Will graunt his saincts reliefe.
*      *      *      *      *      *
Then haue we not a golden daye?
  The Lorde prolonge the same!
That in his feare henceforth we may        165
  Practise our liues to frame;
And so be thankfull to our God
  For these his giftes of grace,
That he may still behold our daies
  With his most louyng face;        170
That all our wordes and deedes henceforth
  May learne so to accorde,
That we with harts unfained may
  Still liue and laude the Lorde:
And next our gracious Queene        175
  So honour and obaye,
That England may be freed still
  From papists’ golden daye;
Which unto those that feare the Lord,
  And loue his veritie,        180
Through rigor and extorted force
  A dismall daie would be.
From which, Lord, fende thy littel flocke,
  And giue our foes a fall:
Confound those cruell Caines, O Lord,        185
  That for a chaunge do call.
And so thy truth do grafte
  Within our tender hart,
That from thy truth and testament
  No daunger cause us start.        190
Confound the rage of rebels stout;
  Lord, be our strength and towre:
As from the Turke, so shield us, Lord,
  From force of popish powre.
Abate their pride, which wilfull be,        195
  In lingringe hope to staie;
Protect thy fold, defend thy churche
  From papists’ golden daye.
Aduaunce thy gospell still,
  Let not thy praise decaie:        200
Stretch forth thine arme, and shield us still
  From papists’ golden daie.
Let all that loue thy testament
  With harts unfayned praie,
That neuer more in England here        205
  The pope haue golden daie.
Increase the number of thy folde;
  Thy mercie, Lord, displaie;
Prolonge amonge thy simple sheepe
  This happy golden daie:        210
That we thy pasture may attaine,
  And so thy worde obaie,
That we at no time neede to feare
  The papists’ golden daie.
Come, hast thy kingdome, mighty God,        215
  Come, Jesus Christ, we praie;
That all our foes may learne and know
  We haue a golden daie.
Our realme and queen defend, dere God,
  With hart and minde I praie;        220
That by thy aide hir grace may keepe
  The papists from their daie.
Hir health, hir wealth, and vitall race,
  In mercy longe increase;
And graunt that ciuill warre and strife        225
  In England still may cease.
Confound the purpose and deuise
  Of all that carelesse crewe,
Which seeke by force for to withstand
  Thy worde and gospell trewe.        230
Preserue the counsell of this realme,
  Let thy Sprite be their staie;
That they their councell may imploy
  To breake the papistes’ daie.
Sende preachers true, good Lord,        235
  Thy gospell to display;
That by their trauell they may let
  The papists’ golden day.
The commons of this realme defend,
  That loue may ay abound;        240
And graunt obedience to our queene
  May euermore be found:
That as she faithfull is
  Hir subiectes ay to loue,
So true and trustie unto hir        245
  Our hartes may euer proue.
Thus shall the mighty God
  Be our defence and stay,
And keepe the cruell papists still
  From their longe-wished day.        250
And we shall haue, as God do graunt
  To papists swift decay,
The worde of grace sincerely preacht,
  Which is our golden day.
Which to continew longe,        255
  To God let us all pray:
Whose glorious name be lauded still
  For this our golden day.
Note 1. CXXVI. John Phillip.—This author wrote a historical poem entitled “A Frendly Larum, or faythfull warnynge to the true-harted subiectes of England: Discoueryng the actes and malicious myndes of those obstinate and rebellious Papists that hope, as they terme it, to haue their golden day.” This poem, of which no mention is made by any bibliographer, was dedicated “to the moste vertuous and gratious Ladie Katherine Duches of Suffolke,” and was published in 1570. [back]

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