Classic Poem

In this our English coast much blessed blood is shed,
Two hundred priests almost in our time martyred
And many a layman die with joyful sufferance,
Many more in prison lie, God's cause for to advance.

Amongst this gracious troop that follow Christ his train,
To cause the Devil stoop four priests were lately slain;
Nutter's bold constancy with his sweet fellow Thwinge,
Of whose most meek modesty Angels and saints may sing.

Hunt's haughty courage stout with godly zeal so true;
Mild Middleton, O what tongue can half thy virtue show?
At Lancaster lovingly these martyrs took their end
In glorious victory, true faith for to defend.

And thus Lancashire offered her sacrifice
To daunt their lewd desire, and please our Saviour's eyes,
For by this means I trust truth shall have victory
When as that number just of such saints complete be.

Who the Holy Ghost doth move unto his deity
In fervent flames of love thus sacrificed to be,
Whose faith and fortitude, whose grace and constancy
With mildness meek indeed confoundeth heresy.

Whose sacred members rent and quarters set on high
Caused more to be content in the same cause to die,
Whose lives while they did live, whose blessed deaths also
Do admonition give what way we ought to go.

If we should them despise, as many wretches do.
We should contemn likewise Our Blessed Saviour too.
Let their examples then move our hearts to relent:
These were most blessed men whom God to us hath sent.

God's holy truth they taught and sealed it with their blood,
Dying with torments fraught and all to do us good,
Let lying heresy with her false libels lout,
Truth will have victory, through such mild champions stout.

Praise be to God's good will, who doth his truth defend;
Lord, to thy vineyard still such worthy workmen send,
And, Good Lord, grant us grace that we may constant be,
With our Cross in each place to please thy majesty.