A Pamphlet Compiled by G. C.

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A Paumflet compyled by G._C. To master Smyth and Wyllyam_G.

Prayenge them both, for the loue of our Lorde,

To growe at last to an honest accorde.

THe fynest wyt that is alyue

Cannot deuyse by tunge nor pen

The spytefull malyce to descryue

That reygneth now in dyuerse men

We maye perceyue by them that stryue

For castynge out a carde of ten

That charyte is set at nought

So reygneth malyce in mannes thought.

Whych thynge doth force me thus to wryte

Concernynge the vncharyte

Of two that nowe with hatefull spyte

Do blame eche other openly

To none of bothe I owe despyte

Ner this is none Apology

For nether parte: but stryfe to stent

Is grounde of all myne argument.

The stryfe I speake of, is bewyxt

One master Smyth & Wyllyam_G.

Theyr wrytynges are confusely myxt

With bytynge wordes, and vylany

In eche of them, a wyll is fyxt

To maynteyne styll his vanyte

Which hath a very feble grounde

Wherwith his enemy to confounde.

All this began, fyrst by a knaue

I wote not who, that wrote a trolle

Wherin he dyd but rage and raue

He knewe full lytle of saynt Poule

Which wrytte the loue that men shuld haue

And for one dyd thys trolle controlle

Lo master Smyth a boke hath pende

This tryflynge troller to defende.

Some saye, it was for flatterye

And some do saye, it was for mede

For to aduaunce him-selfe therby

Such men (they saye) do soonest spede

That least can skyll of modesty

But what he meant, therby in-dede

If I shall iudge, as I do take it

Naught but malyce, made him make it.

For thorow-out his raylyng booke

Of charyte no worde is spoken

Tyll all his malyce purpose tooke

For malyce, forthwith wylbe wroken

And whoso lyst therin to looke

Maye iudge him well, by his owne token

A raylynge knaue, for to defende

Is, in no wyse man to commende.

If master Smyth had marked well

The purpose of that foolyshe dawe

Which trolde vpon the Lorde Crumwell

Wyth ragged ryme, not worth a strawe

He myght haue founde that wretch rebell

Both ageynst God, and all good lawe

And not haue blamed Wyllyam_G.

For blamynge his vncharyte.

But when W._G. dyd fele the prycke

So threattyng and malycious

I wonder not though he dyd kycke

For-why, it was too sclaunderous

And for the kycke, was somwhat quycke

Lo, he agayne as enuyous

A testy aunswere strayte dyd wryte

With checke for checke, & spyte for spyte.

But of this stryfe, the chefe effect

That maynteyned is so knappyshly

Is rysen by the great suspect

Of popyshnes and heresye

One sayth the other is infecte

With such a spyce of knauery

I wyll not iudge, which it shulde be

But bothe theyr wrytynges are to se.

These sortes are both to dyscommende

In any man, where they be founde

For papistes do nought els pretende

But Christes glorye to confounde

And Heretykes, God them amende

Haue but a very feble grounde

If that they preache, that is forbod

Or dyffer from the worde of God.

For heresye is nothynge elles

But swaruyng from the true belefe

As holy wrytte expresly telles

And he is worse then any thefe

That thereagaynst in ought rebelles

Or he that seketh his relefe

Of false goddes, and not of Christ

Is no les then an Antechrist.

But he that hathe a popyshe ha[r]te harte] haxte 1540

And wyll not vnto Christ be wonne

He seekyth not, but to subuert

All that the kynge hathe well begonne

No reason maye hys wyll conuert

But he wyll do, as he hathe done

Wyth tothe and nayle, for to vpholde

Hys blynde belefe, and errors olde.

I wryte not thys, meanyng therbye

That master Smyth is of that sorte

Ner I iudge not that willyam_G.

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Is soche as Smyth dothe hym reporte

But wryte my mynde wyth charyte

The partyes bothe for to exhorte

That he that fyndes hym in the cryme

May fyrst recante, hys raylynge ryme.

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But thys is for to dyscommende

In master Smyth aboue althynge

That he so rashlye wolde defende

A braynles buz, in hys wrytynge

And afterwarde styll forth contende

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Wyth malyce, and wyth threatenyng

Agaynst that poore man wylliam_G.

Farre from all godlye charyte.

Wrestyng the scriptures as hym lyst

For his owne purpose out of frame

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But he that stryfe doth so resyst

That perfect worde, he doth defame

Wherin our helth doth whole consyst

For that is it, the very same

That teacheth vs the loue and drede

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To God and to the Kynge our hede.

Perchaunce that Smyth wyll take it yll

That I iudge him so openly

No force for that, it shall not skyll

For he is knowen suffyciently

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But I protest, that in my wyll

I meane nothynge malycyously

But yet men must, for all his heate

Repute him hotte, that see him sweate.

Lykewyse the other dyd offende

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Wyth wrytyng so impacientlye

For that is no waye to amende

An harte that cankers inwardly

But he his cause, shulde styll defende

Wyth mekenes and wyth charyte

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And not wyth malyce nor despyght

But suffer mekely wronge and ryght

Euyn as the Gospell dothe vs teache

Whych is oure chefe profession

For Paule hym-selfe dyd alwaye preache

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That, for the chefe confession

Of christen heartes, to make them stretche

Theyr fayth vnto Christs passyon

The only entry into healthe

All other entryes are but stealth.

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Lo, thus I fynde them both to blame

Wyshynge to eche with all myne heart

An honest mendement, wythout shame

And praye to Christ that he conuert

Oure iudgementes all into such frame

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That they and we, in euery parte

Wythouten grudge, debate or grefe

Maye fyrmly stande in one belefe.

Whych teacheth vs to loue and dread

Hym that hathe power vnder God

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I mean the kynge that is our head

That here in earth doth beare the rod

Of true iustyce in Chrystes steade

By precyse wordes we be forbod

Hym to wythstande, or to wythsaye

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In euery cause we must obaye.

For whome, as for our only guyde

Oure greatest helpe and chefest staye

That daylye doth for vs prouyde

To saue vs sounde wythout decaye

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In warre and peace on euery syde

Wyth one accorde let vs all praye

To sende hys grace, vs here amonge

Honour, encrease, good lyfe and longe.

God saue the Kynge.

¶Imprynted at London by Rycharde_Bankes. And be to sell in Pater_noster_rowe, at the sygne of the Roose,

Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum solum. This line was set by the printer as part of the colophon