The description of the burning of M. Iohn Bradford preacher, and Iohn Leafe a Prentise 

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Foxe replaced the longer English poem in honour of Bradford with a shorter Latin poem. Interestingly, the English poem appears to be a translation; a Latin version of it remains among Foxe's papers (BL, Harley 416, fo. 38r).

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Bradford, standing in the pyre on the right with his call to England to repent of idolatry, and the short figure on the left of the illiterate young apprentice, John Leafe, who died with him, are shown before the lighting of the fire. The preliminaries reflected the godly fibre of the accused as they first prayed prostrate beside the stake, and then Bradford kissed the instruments of his coming death and gave his clothes to his servant. Apart from one pair of raised hands, officials and guards armed with pikes dominate the scene. Sheriff Woodroffe, who abruptly silenced Bradford's invocation and ordered his hands to be tied, was divinely punished by being struck down with paralysis six months after this event. As other martyrdoms show, hands were the last remaining recourse for communication from the fire. This is not the only case (compare Laurence Saunders, or Latimer and Ridley) in which the illustrator takes temporal liberties, representing an unlit pyre as well as the martyr's last words uttered in the flames. And as elsewhere, the final words were set afresh in each edition gothic type (1563), roman thereafter but with minor differences in positioning.

LAment we maye both daye and night
For this our brother deare,
Bradford a man bothe iust and right.
There was but fewe hys peare.
For gods true seruaunt he was knowen,
In euery Citye and towne,
His worde amongest them he hath sowen,
Till it was troden downe.
There was no man could him appeache,
Neyther in worde nor dede,
But that he liued as he ded teache,
In feare of God and drede.
Syns that the tyme he did professe,
Gods holy word most true,
No riches substaunce more or lesse,
Could turne his hart a newe.
From Gods true word he would not slyde,
Though it was to his payne,
But in the truth he did a byde,
All men might knowe it playne.
The wicked men they did him take,
And promyse hym much store,
To cause him this his God forsake,
And preache the truth no more.
But he for all that they could saye,
Would not his God displease,
But trusted at the iudgement daye,
His ioye would then increase.
And where they punished him therfore,
Full well he did it take,
He thought no paynes could be to sore,
To suffer for Christes sake.
Alas the people did lament,
When that they did here tell,
That he in Smithfielde shoulde be brent,
No more with vs to dwell.

His preaching was both true and good,
His countenaunce meke and mylde,
Alas the sheding of his bloud,
Pleasde neither man nor childe.
Saue onely they which had the lawe,
At that tyme in their hande,
Which still desire more into drawe,
And catch them in their bande.
O wicked men of litle grace,
Was euer the like sene:
So manye menne in such a space,
To death consumed cleane?
How manye of you papists all,
Would not with spede returne,
From your doctrine papsticall,
Yf that you knewe to burne?
And where you would not gyue hym leaue
His mynde foorth for to breake,
All men of God will him beleue,
Thoughe little he did speake.
In going to the burning fire,
He talked al the waye,
The people then he did desyre,
For him that they would praye,
And when he came vnto the place,
Where as then he should dye:
Ful meeke the fyre he dyd embrace,
And sayde: welcome to me.
A seruaunt true of God I say,
Wyth hym that tyme dyd burne:
Because to Gods woorde he dyd stay,
Not wyllyng to returne.
But quietly were both content,
Their death to take truely:
Whych made the peoples hartes to rent,
Theyr deathfull panges to see.