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The Friers LAMENTING, For his not REPENTING.

Being a Relation of the life and death of Francis Colewort a Frier, who related a little before his death a three­fold Plot of Treaſon.

With his Converſion to the Proteſtant Religion, at Hungerford in Barkſhire.

[printer's or publisher's device

Printed at London. 1641.


THE LIFE AND DEATH OF Francis Colevvort, A French Frier, who related a little before his death a threefold plot of Treaſon.

COuntrymen, this Papiſt that made this dolefull Lamentation was a long time a Frier in France, yet borne in England, by name Francis Colewort, his father was a very honeſt poor man, living in the Towne of Hungerford in Barkſhire, and a Shoomaker by his Trade; this Francis Colewort was brought up to ſchool till he was fit to go to Oxford, but his father being not able to maintain him there, he wait­ed upon Sir Edward Bristowe ſon and heir into France; now he being a youth of a very pregnant wit, and a pretty ſcholar, he commenced his two Degrees of Bachelour and Maſter of Arts in Paris, and it hapned that it pleaſed God to give him over to himſelfe that he became a Frier, and ſo continued for the ſpace of twelve yeeres; at the2 laſt it pleaſed God to open his eyes that he ſaw the pit he was fallen into, he became a true Proteſtant, and came for his owne Countrey, where with griefe for the Religion he had ſo long been blinded with, he even blind­ed himſelfe with tears, relating the plots of theſe Pa­piſticall Caterpillers, which they had pretended againſt this Kingdom for a long time. He lived ſixty and ſeven yeeres, and a little before his death, he unfolded many treaſons, which I ſhall after relate.

The Treaſons againſt our State, which Francis Colewort a French Frier, after he was convert­ed to the Truth, related.

FIrſt, he reported that the Pope of Rome wrote his Letters to the two great Monarchs, F. S. that hee might incenſe them againſt this our State; for whileſt we were in ſafety, he pretended he was not at any quiet.

Secondly, he, viz. the Pope alſo wrote Letters to the Emperour that he would joyne with the two great Mo­narchs, that he might be ſure to ſee, or at leaſt to hear of the utter ſubverſion of our State.

Thirdly, he ſaid, that there were above three hundred Jeſuits and Friers in this Kingdom, all which had taken the Sacrament to do ſome bloudy Deſigne.

From this may you ſee the continuall Plots which3 have been hatched againſt this our State, yet••re everame to any good, and how are we bourd to praiſe our God for theſe Deliverances? I beſeech you that ye wouldll rejoyce with me, and praiſe the great Jehovah, who is the beginning and the end.

A Friers lamenting, For his not repenting.

LIke to the Porpoſe, tempeſt, foot-poſt, I
Do play before my ſtorme of miſery,
Or like the Swan who ſings juſt at his death,
So do I caroll out my lateſt breath,
Quavers are ſighs, and ſemiquavers teares,
Griefe is the drapaſon my ſong beares:
When firſt the wanton windes of peare and reſt
Play'd with my ſailes, then did my thoughts worke beſt,
I ſet ſuch wheeles of treaſons round, that I
Thought ſure the world drown'd in my Tragcedy.
A powder-plot I had, which all the earth,
Though it had ſtriv'd, could not have ſtopt its birth;
Yet the all-ſeeing Eye of Heaven ſaw,
How much abuſe was offered to his Law,
He cropt my bud of Treaſon, and the ſtocke
Wither'd, and ſtrait became my ſtumbling blocke.
Thus low I lie, without all hope to riſe,
Look here and ſee, griefe doth eclipſe mine eyes;
Whole ſhowres of teares ſtand ready at the brinke,
And ſeas of ſorrow cauſe me here to ſinke;
I was a man that alwayes thought it good,
To ſwim to my deſires through ſeas of blood,
But ſee my downfall, I am fallen there
Where I but late had fixt a ſubtle ſnare,
I like to Haman built a lofty tree,
Which men thought beſt t'allot to none but me.
Ye dolefull feares which do ſurround my heart,
Which pinch my ſoul, and to my further ſmart,
Confound my ſenſes, ſwadling me in thrall,
To make me hated here in generall,
Which to my frozen lips have utterance given,
Speake, O ſpeake the command ye bring from Heaven
Thus much I graſpe, and this I underſtand,
The lateſt day is now, (ev'n now) at hand
What ſhall I do? I will confeſſe my ſin,
Thence may you reade the griefe I labour in.
O, I was one which liv'd under ſuſpence.
I nothing ſtudied but to pleaſe my ſence,
I trimm'd a glorious out ſide, whileſt within,
I nouriſht nought, but propagated ſin;
What dar'd I not? I often drencht my ſoul
In Pluto's Lethe, in red murthers boule;
I durſt attempt to pull Iove from his throne,
I did no leſſe, I pull'd at Caeſar's Crowne,
Caeſars ſaid I? nay here is now more ods,
I threatned heaven and the thundring gods.
Seas were at my command, and thence did I
Threatned Religion preſſe with miſery,
But now behold, my creſcent hornes are chang'd,
And I could wiſh that I had never rang'd,
My ſun of glorie's ſet, and I returne
Downe to my humble grave, my peacefull Urne;
I have no hope, my ebbe will never flow,
But I muſt ſtoop to fortune at one blow;
My Genius tels me I have done great wrong,
A grievous burthen to any dolefull ſong,
'Tis my ill deeds that now doth blaſt my praiſe,
My ſtar doth fall, without a ſtar-like blaze;
I once did ſcorne pity, I had in ſtore,
Now none will pity, becauſe my worth is poor;
But I deſerve it, I did alwayes prey
Upon Religion both night and day,
Juſt like the Aſſe clad in a Lions skin,
Thus did I act, and enact each dayes ſin:
When I look on my fatall miſery,
My thoughts begin to ſcale the ſtarry sky,
T'invoke great Iove, hope doth me ſtrait wayes ſpurne,
Decreeing fates have clapt me in my Urne:
Thus may you ſee what 'tis to bow and creep
To idle idols, how moſt men do leap
To ſee my downefall, and I muſt confeſſe,
That in their joy conſiſts my happineſſe;
For thoſe that ſuffer here below, I'le prove,
Have leſſe to anſwer fore our God above.
Lord grant me patience, now I come to thee,
No Saint ſhall now once intercede for me;
Forgive me Lord for thoſe ſins which are paſt,
I'le leave the Pope, and come to thee at laſt,
And on my knees I beg from thee O God,
That thou would'ſt ſpareit by all revenging rod,
I'le kneel no more to Saints, not I, not I,
I feel the ſmart, I'me grip'd with miſery,
But now I ſue for this ſame very thing,
That I may have pardon from my earthly King,
He whom I hated cauſe he was too good
To live among us, O my ſoul for food
Doth almoſt faint, pray for my ſafety all,
Although you laugh to ſee a ſinner fall,
So ſhall ye have my prayers to great Iove,
That the great King of kings would ſhew you love.


VVHat do yee ſpit forth Verſe, or piſſe out Proſe
Or drop conceits from forth your fruitfull noſe
That thus you ſell a Copy for a boord,
Nay by Apollo first give't for a
Each verſe I make, makes me to twist my face,
To picke my nailes, almost an houres ſpace,
Before invention can to me preſent,
The forming of one pleaſing complement.
And faith before this Stump-foot ſilly Gull
Shall rake my braines to ſpend upon a Trull,
I'le throw my inke away, and make my braines
Forſwear to write ſuch under-prized ſtraines,
I'le take my leave, and do what you ſhall pleaſe,
If you take counſell 'twill be for your eaſe,
Go downe to th' Parliament with your new print book,
Let them your good intentions quite orelook,
O, 'twas bravely done to ſet downe your owne praiſe,
But then by way to ſhorten your dayes,
Your Mercuries forſake you, ſo do your Hawkers,
Take heed of medling with any more Walkers.

About this transcription

TextThe friers lamenting, for his not repenting. Being a relation of the life and death of Francis Colewort a frier, who related a little before his death a threefold plot of treason. With his conversion to the Protestant religion, at Hungerford in Barkshire.
AuthorTaylor, John, 1580-1653, attributed name..
Extent Approx. 9 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 5 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images.
SeriesEarly English books online.
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(EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. A84924)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 157005)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 29:E168[3])

About the source text

Bibliographic informationThe friers lamenting, for his not repenting. Being a relation of the life and death of Francis Colewort a frier, who related a little before his death a threefold plot of treason. With his conversion to the Protestant religion, at Hungerford in Barkshire. Taylor, John, 1580-1653, attributed name.. [2], 6 p. [s.n.],Printed at London :1641.. (In prose and verse.) (Title page has printers' device (McK. imperfect: 268-272).) (Reproduction of the original in the British Library.)
  • Colewort, Francis, ca. 1579-1641?.
  • Great Britain -- Religion -- 17th century.

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ImprintAnn Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2012-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 2).
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