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Updated: June 18, 2025
"We will not receyue the new Servyce, because it is but lyke a Christmasse game, but we wyll have our olde Servyce of Mattens, masse, evensong and procession in Latten as it was before.
My purse, it is my privy wyfe, This song I dare both syng and say, It keepeth men from grievous stryfe When every man for himself shall pay. As I ryde in ryche array For gold and silver men wyll me floryshe; But thys matter I dare well saye, Every gramercy myne own purse.
If I must be banisht, if those heathen dogs will needes rob me of my goods, I wyll poyson their springs and conduit heades, whence they receiue all their water round about the citie, He tice all the yong children into my house that I can get, and cutting their throates barrell them vp in poudring beefe tubbes, and so send them to victuall the popes galleyes.
But Chryst saye nolite judicare et non judicabimini, therefore y wyll guge my nowne conschons fyrst the wych fault ye shall know of me heyrafter more largyously and many other fowll vycys done amonckst relygyus men not relygyus men, as y thynck they owt not to be cald, but dyssemblars wyth God.
Item we wyll have everye preacher in his sermon and every Pryest at his masse, praye specially by name for the soules in purgatory as owre forefathers dyd." This rising, which began in Devonshire, rapidly spread throughout Cornwall; it was, indeed, the fiercest and most serious of all the risings against an enforced Reformation.
Many English writers have not done so, but using straunge wordes as latin, french, and Italian, do make all things darke and harde. Once I communed with a man whiche reasoned the englyshe tongue to be enryched and encreased thereby, sayinge Who wyll not prayse that feaste where a man shall drinke at a diner bothe wyne, ale and beere?
Now wyll I slee the said Arthur. Slee me ye may wel, said Accolon, and it please yow, for ye ar the best knyghte that euer I fonde, and I see wel that god is with yow. Sir Launcelot arrived at a giant's castle, and "he looked aboute, and sawe moche peple in dores and wyndowes that sayd fayre knyghte thow art unhappy.
In a sermon of 1578 we read the following bitter and deep-drawn sigh by the clergyman John Stockwood: "Wyll not a fylthye playe wyth the blast of a trumpette sooner call thyther a thousande than an houres tolling of a bell bring to the sermon a hundred? nay, even heere in the Citie, without it be at this place and some other certaine ordinarie audience, where shall you finde a reasonable company? whereas, if you resort to the Theatre, The Curtayne, and other places of playes in the Citie, you shall on the Lord's Day have these places, with many other that I cannot reckon, so full as possible they can throng."
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