Cyrus was Sonne of Cambises, and King of the Meedes and Persians, who making war against the Scithians, Tomiris the Queen, hauing by suttletie slain Cyrus with two hundred thousand Persians, did cut of his head, and cast it into a boll of man's blood, saying, Sutiu te sanguine quem sitisti, &c. Iustin. li. j.

+ He spared noue, that he eyther durst, or could, be bolde to put to pain for Gods truthe.

But bloody drunk, sith he not one
Did spare of Christes sheep;
Whiche did desire their conscience pure,
By gospel, for to keep.

Yet he did watche, though as a woolf,
Christes lambes for to deuoure;
He watched not to feed their soules,
Nor yet to preache one houre.

For sure, though he had bishops rowm,
Paul saith, he was vnfit*;

In suche a place of Christes flock,
At any time to sit.

Whose iudgment was so small and weak,
In Christes testament;

And learning lesse to teache the flock,
With that so slowe intent.

Should he obtain of grace deuine,
Now for to haue a praise?
Whose retchless rage, and swinishe life,
Shall liue in all mens dayes.

His knoweledge was to base, no dout,
To sit in bishops seat;

Though he, perhaps, in Popes decrees,
Through travail might be great.

And ciuile law right prompt he knew,
Though all for private gain;
And cannons too, for therin was
His only studeous pain.

And all but to upholde the pride

Of Rome, which was to ill;

Or els to finde a way how he

Gods childrens blood might spil.

But who can boste in Gods decrees,
Of Bonners knowledge now,

In Scriptures force his answers shewd
Him learned as a cow.

Or as an asse, whiche iudgement lacks, In sence of holy writ;

Though he obtaind, a bitter space,

In bishops seat to sit.

• 1 Tim. iii.

*Sus taught Mineruam there to long,
Whiche held usurped place;

'Till Christe, by force of gospel truthe,
This + Bufo did displace:

And took the asse from his repast
Of playing on the harp;
Whose horned pawes, in harmony,
Made neither flat nor sharp.

But spilt the sound so long a time,
When mischeef reignd at wil;
Till Pallas came who took the asse
Down from Parnassus hil.

And tied him vp at Maunger yet,
Whiche once did there remain;
Though there he felt not his deserts,
Nor halfe deserued pain.

To lodge on boords, as he had made
Some other lodge before;

With hands and feet, to starue in stocks,
With giues to be ful sore.

No, no, in stall, his torments were
None suche, nor half so vile;
He pris'ner hath been sure, but yet
Not tasted, all this while,

Of pris'ners thrall, of hungers bit,
In dungeon deep to grone;

Yet he of captiues life, ful oft,
To many made his mone.

Not sure for pain, which he did feel,

But for the greatest greef:

That he could not be fed as yet,

(In slaughter who was cheef)

With blood of saints, and Christian fleshe,

Wherwith his lust was fed';

That he could not exalt the Pope,

Stil heer as supreme hed.

• Sus Mineruam, the sow teacheth Minerua. What a sow is by nature, ncedeth no expresting. Minerua was daughter of Iupiter, and called by the poets Goddess of Wisdome and all good arts; now this is talking a prouerb, where one unlearned teacheth him of wisdom he might better be taught.

+Bufo is a tod, so applied to Bonner, because of his venemous minde.

+ Asinus ud Lirum." This is a prouerb of those that haue neither goodnes, nor wils to submit to discipline.

Pallas the neck-name of Minerua, so named from a mountain of Thessalia or Aonia, with a twisted top, where the muses called Parnassides, or Aonides, did remain.

That he could not his holy lambes,

And leaden bulles bestowe; His pardons and his obsequies, Mens souls to ouerthrowe.

That truthe had ouerthrowen with power His brutishe vile intent;

Whiche thought, by fire and fagots force,
Gods gospel to preuent.

This wrought his onely greef and wo,
As wel it did appcer;

For other cause sure there was none,
That euer I could hear.

He lay ful soft and had inough

Of beer, and chaunge of wine;

Bothe fleshe and fishe, bothe fruits and foul, Moste delicate and fine.

His table neuer wanted sutes,

At wil it to maintain

He lacked neuer cators he,

His ayds took always pain.

To keep their God, their hope, their trust,
Their staffe of Roomishe stay;

Because with him they wisht a chaunge,
Stil looking for a day,

And not with him, but with the rest,
Of all their hellishe rable;
Whiche are in their blinde errors stil,
Moste hard and wilful stable,

Who pris'ners are as foes to Christe,
To Christian Queen and land;

But cheef this Quondam which made boste,
If he might haue in hand

His former poure and time again,

To blesse and curse at wil;

Where one he burnt, on thousands then

He would his lust fulfil.

This was his boste and blooddy thirst,

Wherin his ayds did trust;

That once again the Roomishe whore
Might haue her filthy lust.

• Tho. Cranmer, Archbishop of Cant. whom, by their cannons, they could not put to death, til the Pope, araying bis image at Room, condemned it, burnt it, and then was he burned at Oxford. Car dinal Pool, who could not be Archbishop by the cannons, til the other were dead.