THE ANATOMY OF THE ROMAN CLERGY: OR, A DISCOVERY OF THE ABUSES THEREOF.  
Written in Latin by sundry Authors of their own profession.  
And Translated into English verse by G. L. Roma diu titubans, longis erroribus acta Corruet: & mundi desinet esse caput.  
LONDON, Printed by Richard Field for Robert Mylbourne, and are to be sold at the great South door of Paul's. 1623.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE AND WORTHY Lady Elizabeth Viscountesse Anan, Lady Loghmaben, with all her other good graces, and virtuously deserved titles and honours.  
MADAM,  
THough the conscience of my own unworthiness might have sufficiently deterred me from this boldness, of offering these first & frivolous fruits of my muses labours at the shrine of your Ladyship's divine perfections, yet the hope of your gracious acceptance banishing my fears, did encourage me with this assurance, that as no darkness can remain at the approach of the Sun, so no erroneous faults can be found or seen in those lines your Ladyship's honourable eyes have once overshined: whereby I shall slight the censures of carping Critics, and laugh at the malice of malignant Momus, shadowed under the wings of your favourable protection. In which security, my greatest happiness I shall hold to be in your Ladyship's honourable employment, which I shall study to deserve by some greater work, till when I remain,  
Your Ladyship's most devotely affected, G. L.   

TO THE ROMAN Catholic Readers.  
GEntle Readers, let it not offend you, that I have put forth in our Country language those things which long ago were published by men of your own Religion and society: It is not unknown to you what Ariosto that famous writer and learned Poet, borne in Lombardie, hath written in his Satyrs of the Court and Clergy of Rome, being familiar servant for the time to Pope Leo the tenth: likewise Francis Petrarch Archdeacon of Parma a Florentine borne, who lived in the time of Benedict the twelfth, and being greatly esteemed in his Court, was earnestly solicited by the said Pope, who offered to give him a Cardinal's Hat, if he would persuade his sister, a very fair young woman, dwelling in avignon to prostitute her body to his desire, who was desperately in love with her, the honest man abhorring his desire and the offer, made answer, that such a filthy Hat was not to be received upon such an unhonest condition; and if it were not for the reverence he bore to the Sea of Rome, he would make his pen paint forth his knavery. After that being desired by some of his friends (who had left the City) to let them understand the estate of the Town there, he did write certain Epistles sine titulo, not daring either name the writer, or to whom he wrote; out of which I have gathered the most remarkable things, and put forth to your reading in the best sort I could, as likewise the order of the Friars, written according to Virgil's verse in form of a Cento by Lelius Capilupus a Catholic Roman: sundry other verses are translated out of your own Poets, such as Mantuanus and Palingenius, both famous men of your own Religion. Now seeing I give you no invention, made either by myself or any other of your adversaries, but that which was written many years since by men of your own profession, most highly addicted to your Religion, I doubt not but you will excuse me, who lets you see by your own writers, what abuses have ever been in that Church from the beginning, and daily do increase. Consider therefore with yourselves, how miserably you are blinded by that Roman Antichrist, and pray to God to give you the light of his Spirit, that you may see all those filthy errors, & turn to his true worship. Farewell.  
Your well-willer and friend, G. L.   

THE ORDER OF THE Friars, written by Lelius Capilupus in Latin verse, and translated into English.  

I Am the man when others died for love, 
Ille ego qui quondam dum gallus amore periret, etc.   
Who in the woods my verses did indite  
In Country rhymes, which trifles then did prove:  
But now resolved a greater work to write,  
Yet not such lies as Virgil did invent,  
Of Dido's death, and blamed Anchises son:  
My song shall be of Friar's multipotent,  
Who harbour gravity within a gown:  
Courageous men, young, lusty, strong, and stout,  
Whose hearts and minds are from all labour free;  
This will I sing, their praises all (no doubt)  
By Mantoes help and pleasant harmony.   

Their first beginning.  
THeir race first came from jupiter above, 
Capil. Ab Ioue principium generis, etc.   
If herein we may Histories believe:  
Yet not the less their constancy to prove,  
They were constrained like Hermit's poor to live  
In dens and caves, through woods and wilderness:  
No house they had, no resting place at all,  
But wand'ring to and fro in great distress,  
Did eat such fruit as from the trees did fall.  
Fair fountain streams did serve to be their drink:  
No wine was found amongst that company,  
Of dainty fare they never once did think,  
Nor of such things as tempt to lechery:  
All sober men, religious, chaste, upright.  
But who (alas) can choose but these times rue,  
If he be pleased but to take a sight,  
And mark the new-brood of Friars holy crew.   

Their first Author Saint Francis.  
Down from the skies a Saint came suddenly,  
Who did convent this multitude most pure, 
Capil. Vnus qui nobis Deus oethere missus ab alto, etc.   
Charging them all from wilderness to fly  
To civil Towns, where they might live secure.  
Then like a raging torrent they over ran  
All Europe, Asia, Africa, and Indie,  
Possessing all this universe, which then  
Seemed insufficient them to satisfy.  
Thus changing desert woods, and flowery fields,  
For golden cloisters, Palaces most fair,  
The youth enured to pain, to pleasure yields,  
When as they came where company repair:  
And casting off the wont gravity,  
Which their forefathers in the days of old  
So much had used, clad with impiety,  
With open face grew impudently bold.   

Their ease.  
THeir chief care now is for to make good cheer, 
Capil. Ergo omni studio laeti convivia curant, etc.   
And by the fire to sit each winter night:  
And in the Summer when the heavens look clear,  
Provide a shadow from Apollo's sight.  
In gowns they go, to keep them from the cold,  
(Or else to cloak their knaveries from being known)  
And with a cowl or cap sowed twenty fold,  
They arm themselves against the gout and stone.   

The late off spring.  
THis race (immortal studies to maintain 
Capil. At genus immortal, etc.   
The honour which their Predecessors won)  
Rare document, and orders did ordain,  
With offices and rooms for every one,  
Like magistrates who rule a civil Town:  
Some are preferred to guide the holy band,  
Some for the Church and service up and down:  
Some with the Priest must at the Altar stand,  
One, must receipt of gifts officiate,  
Another for to dress their gardens well.  
One must be porter of the cloister gate,  
To keep them in from Nuns, if flesh rebel:  
They are all shorn, both on the pate and chin.  
Big bellied, bacon backed, as fat as swine,  
With dainty cates they gorge their guts within,  
All nosed like turkey-cocks with drinking wine.   

Their Orders.  
But though I had an hundred tongues and more, 
Capil. Sed neque quam multae species, etc.   
I could not tell how many sorts there be,  
Nor show the names and orders which do flow  
From this waste Sea in their posterity.   

Their Matins.  
WHen this vile crew hath sound slept all night  
From beds of softest down than up they rise, 
Capil. Omne adeo genus in terris, etc.   
At sound of sacred bells when day grows light,  
And go to Church where each rare Relic lies:  
With great denotion when they Matins sing,  
The Priest begins all clad in purest white,  
Whose roaring voice, makes all the Church to ring:  
The rest to answer him again delight.  
This being done he to the Altar goes,  
And reckons up a thousand Saints at once:  
From his hoarse throat, & speaking through his nose  
Thrice crying loud with many feigned groans,  
We be the cause of all our misery,  
Oh holy Sire whom no place can contain,  
Thy glorious name be praised eternally:  
Let us once see thy countenance again,  
Since we thy holy issue are indeed,  
And our first fathers from the heavens descended,  
Be always present with us in our need,  
And take us to thee when this life is ended.   

Their Mass.  
HEre are the relics Lord, which that last night, 
Capil. Stant aras circum puraque in vestesacerdoes, etc.   
Thou left behind, when men thy death decreed:  
Here is that Altar ever in our sight,  
Upon the which we break the holy bread.  
O Son of God, why see I now thy face,  
With bloody wounds deformed all about:  
And skin so rend with scars in every place,  
From hellish fire to hold thy servants out.  
The damned fiends do tremble at thy sight,  
And all the host of that infernal pit.  
Thou with thy Father mak'st our suit go right,  
And we with God himself at banquets sit.  
Oh hear our cries and to our plaints give ear,  
Most holy Virgin, undefiled and chaste,  
Mother of grace, request thy Son to hear  
Our prayers, and on earth let us have rest.  
This being done, the bread he takes in hand,  
And turns it up and down with apish toys,  
And that he says no man can understand,  
His mind is so bereft with sudden joys.  
At last the holy Host he breaks in pieces,  
And swallows it all greedily at once:  
Which time, to beat his breast he never ceasses,  
And sadly sigheth forth his forged groans.  
The Calix next he sighing holdeth up,  
While all the people bowing down their heads,  
Sat muttering (what, they know not) to the cup  
And pray out all the number of their beads.  
When in his swagging belly he doth put  
(As he affirms) the body of his God,  
The cup he empties in his fasting gut,  
At which, the stupid multitude doth nod.  
At last he sprinkles all about the Altar,  
And on the people, as they sit and pray,  
His divel-driving conjured holy water:  
This done, bids them depart and go away.   

The Friars preaching.  
AN aged Friar, or old Father goes 
Capil. Consurgit senior divosque in vota voca. mit, etc.   
Up to the pulpit in a Reverend pace,  
Where while he stands (all white with years) he shows,  
As if he were the mirror of all grace:  
And there declares the torments of the hells,  
And how th' Assyrians tower did aim at heaven.  
Of miracles a thousand jests he tells,  
With some true tales, to make his lies go even.  
He threatens then the rustic people all,  
With plagues and sickness which will them infest,  
With tempests, rain, which on them he'll make fall:  
And that with famine they shall be oppressed.  
What shall they do, the silly people cry,  
And keep a woeful murmur in the place,  
The women prostrate on their faces lie,  
And earnestly entreat the Saints for grace.  
He rests a space, and then begins again,  
More soberly, and stretching forth his arm,  
Holds up a rod, whose virtues he doth fain,  
To be mostrare, 'gainst sorceries and charms.  
With this (says he) the souls I can recall,  
That are condemned to Purgatory fires.  
Down at his feet the people kneeling fall,  
Suing for pardon to their buried siers.  
Then he begins with every one apart,  
To hear Confession how they led their lives,  
And they declare the secrets of their heart,  
As he demands, both children, men and wives.  
Such as bring gifts of silver or of gold,  
Or other things to serve their appetite,  
He them absolves from all misdeeds of old;  
And pardons freely all their errors quite.  
But they from whom (poor souls) he nought receives  
To Purgatory must, with woe and shame,  
And to the devil their souls he careless leaves,  
To be tormented in that purging flame.   

Their Dinner.  
THis Sermon done, to Cloister he retires, 
Capil. Ordine ahoena locant alij flammasque ministrant, etc.   
Where all the rest for dinner do attend.  
Great work is made to fill the hungry Friars:  
They every man to several office send.  
Some in the kitchen turning spits are set,  
Well granished with store of dainty fare,  
Some from the Butler do the Naprie get:  
Each to discharge his duty hath a care.  
Mean while the gourmonds stand with greedy eyes,  
Ready to eat up very boards and all,  
In expectation till their Prior rise,  
And from his cabin shows himself i'th' hall.  
At last he comes, Lord of that rabbling rout, 
Capil. Tum pater omnipotens, etc.   
Attended on with store of company,  
A foul fat monstrous Lubber, full o'th' gout:  
Whose length and breadth of one dimension be.  
His back and belly both of equal roundness,  
He tumbleth forward like an empty ton,  
Whose vast concavity doth sound profoundness,  
Not to be filled before the evenings' Sun.  
Him all admire, and stand about his seat, 
Capil. Illeregit dictis animos, etc.   
He charges them to peace when fall'n at strife.  
If any prove offending, he doth threat,  
Perpetual prison shall consume their life.  
Remember (says he) wont misery  
In former time, your hunger thirst and cold,  
And how ye now swim in felicity,  
In ease and pleasure, health, wealth, full of gold.  
This is the way to heaven which we now lead:  
Go to, then all, and thank the God above,  
Who makes you now upon these meats to feed.  
Then to their rooms all instantly remove,  
Each one makes haste that he may first sit down,  
And who shall have his hand first in the dish,  
Belching like basest Hind and rudest clown,  
Throughout the house, and still for more they wish.  
Some pick the bones, some lick the fallen crumbs,  
Some sit carousing in the Germane sort.  
When all is done, and no more victual comes,  
This graceless band i'th' fields themselves disport.   

Their pastime.  
THere they begin to wantonnize and play,  
Among the woods and pleasant running springs, 
Capil. Ceu quondam nivei liquida inter flumina, etc.   
With sundry exercises all the day,  
And every man his instrument forth brings.  
Some for to fish with nets, and lines laid out,  
Others to hunt, bring grayhounds for the Hare,  
Some set their snares for fowls that fly about,  
And others to the flowery meads repair.  
Whereas they jump, and dance, and loudly sing,  
Laugh, tumble, sport, and live in jollity,  
That all the neighbouring woods with echoes ring:  
Filled with the clamours of that company.  
But if it chance that any man of fame,  
Should come to see their merry exercise,  
Then all the troop do hide themselves for shame,  
And back into the Cloisters each man flies.   

The begging Friars.  
Out of the town the begging Friars fly,  
The Country's charity and help to crave, 
Capil. Discurrunt alij ad portas. etc.   
Who with their lies and glozing flattery,  
Get store of meat, such as the people have.  
Both bread, meal, butter, oil, and fruit, and cheese,  
Which they lay up in store for winter's night:  
And thus they work like wasps, not honey bees,  
From Phoebus' rise, till Cynthia shows her sight.   

Funerals.  
TO funerals when they are charged to go, 
Capil. jampridem resides aegrisque effusa iwontus, etc.   
This wanton flock is ready at command,  
And there they march along two in a row,  
With each a burning taper in his hand.  
What sort of creatures may we deem this kind,  
Who sing for joy, when all the rest so weep?  
When others sigh, they have content of mind,  
And for their gain, still wish more thus to sleep.   

Their Supper.  
WHen this is done, to Cloister they return, 
Capil. Devexo interea propior fit rerper olympo, etc.   
There stay a while, till suppers on the board,  
Their halls all stored with lights that flaming burne,  
And every gallery with lamps decored,  
They make good cheer, & drink good beer & wine  
Of divers sorts, the best the country yields.  
Which done, the elder to their nests incline,  
The younger sane a walking to the fields:  
But when o'ercome with heavy sleep and wine,  
Their holy father's slumber out the night,  
The Youngsters and the Sisters so divine,  
Have secret meetings for their youth's delight.   

The Nuns.  
THe holy Nuns, like Danae in her Tower, 
Capil. Pectora maerentem tenebru & carcere caeco, etc.   
With hundred doors and bars are shut up fast,  
Guarded with Beldames, yet there comes a shower  
Of lusty gallants scales the fort at last.  
Some much have wondered, and indeed they may,  
How Cloystred virgins, from the world exiled,  
Who never cease, nor day nor night to pray,  
Should with the wind, conceive and have a child:  
Where of a sacred seed doth spring (no doubt)  
And overflows earth's spacious face we see:  
For from the vaults of Cloisters there comes out  
A race most rare, conceived most wondrously.   

The Author's farewell to all the Orders.  
NOw fare you well, with all your several sects,  
Who thus abound in all prosperity: 
Capil. Salut vera Ioun proles, etc.   
You are the Saints, whom every man respects,  
And honours most throughout all Italy.  
In doubtful things your counsel they do crave,  
As from the Delphian Oracle of old,  
And gladly your responses do receive,  
Trusting as truth itself what you have told.  
Your care is all in Cloisters close to lie,  
And keep the Saints from all corruption sure,  
When we in arms (I do you not envy)  
Must watch all night, that you may sleep secure.  
Would I were but the meanest of your train,  
To keep your gate, or sweep your sacred floors,  
Where I in safety henceforth might remain,  
Within the compass of your walls and doors.  
Most happy, ye, the sons of mighty jove,  
Who live in mirth, while other men do mourn,  
We must be gone, where raging Mars doth rove,  
Whose eyes shoot lightning, all the world to burn:  
So great dissension rises every day,  
Among the Kings and Princes of this age,  
That Europe quakes in this most fearful fray,  
To see the terror of Bellona's rage.  
The misbelieving son of Gog Magog, 
The great Turk.   
With troops past number boasts to tread us down,  
And all the followers of that faithless dog,  
Vow to o'er run us with their horned moon:  
But you his awful threats do never fear,  
Nor are you moved, but live at quiet ease,  
And bid your Nuns sleep sound, & make good cheer  
With open gates, at midnight if they please.  
O blessed are you, how ever matters go  
Throughout the world, your wealth and honours last,  
Your worthy praises I will ever show,  
And sing your orders equal to the best.   

An addition by the Translator.  
THere is a monster strange begot of late,  
Betwixt a begging Friar and a Nun,  
Whose subtlety hath troubled Europe's state,  
And sowing jars, all Princes hath undone.  
His shaveling followers do him deify,  
As he were God, and Lord of sea and land:  
For he (but stay there) most impetuously,  
For supreme power and highest seat doth stand.  
Of this vile stock a filthy race is sprung,  
Which overrules the land of Italy,  
And in new Rome hath swayed the Sceptre long,  
By witchcraft, incest, and foul Sodomy.  
Some call him Pope, some father of the Saints,  
Some say he is Christ's Vicar, left behind:  
The knave himself most arrogantly vaunts,  
That he in heaven can lose, in hell can bind.  
Such is the power he hath the world throughout,  
With triple crown when he in chair doth sit,  
Kings, Emperors, and great Monarches all about,  
Most humbly come, to kiss his foot, as fit.  
This monster now in Europe doth command,  
And to the Indieses his putent power's extended,  
So that no King, nor Prince dare once withstand  
The torrent of his wrath when he's offended,  
This Prelate's pride I cannot all declare,  
Nor gorgeous pomp, which daily doth increase  
With Cardinals, who Kings companions are,  
Whom to enrich, poor Princes states decrease.  
When hells great Monarch ended hath his life,  
The Cardinal's convent to choose another,  
Whose holy meetings oft are marred with strife,  
Which to appease, they take some Friar brother.  
This done, they carry him through all the Town,  
High mounted on Priests shoulders magnified,  
Then in a chair unbottomed set him down,  
Where his humanity is searched and tried,  
Because an English wench them once beguiled, 
Platina de vitis Pontific. Roman &c.   
Who in disguise unto the Popedom came,  
And with a Friar the holy See defiled:  
Having a child to Rome's eternal shame.  
On solemn days, when he his Mass would make,  
Two Cardinals do carry up his train,  
The multitude attends him at the back,  
Till he be set in state, they throng amain,  
And while in pomp he sitteth in his chair,  
They bring him wine and consecrated bread:  
Such is, his pride, he will not do it bare,  
Lest some mischance befall his mitred head.  
Many strange tricks this hellhound he devices,  
Setting his neighbours all at great debate.  
To war and Arms all Princes he entices,  
That he may live in a more quiet state.  
If any Prince this demidivell offend,  
Or wrong his servants in the lightest sort, 
Witness the two last kings of France.   
Incontinent his bloodhounds he will send,  
Friars disguised, and make his life pay for't.  
And then give pardon to the murderer,  
And as a Saint him canonize, as right:  
Men must adore the bloody furtherer  
Of his damned plots, which even his soul 
* Witness the tapestry hangings in his parlour at Rome, wherein the description of the massacre at Paris is gorgeously set out.  delight.  
What shall we say, but pray the God of peace,  
Soon to confound this Antichrist of Rome,  
Whose rage and mischief is not like to cease,  
Against th'anointed, till he get his doom,  
To go to hell with all his company,  
There to remain in that abhorred place,  
And suffer tortures everlastingly,  
Without all future hope of after grace.    

CERTAIN VERSES TAKEN OUT OF THE EPISTLES of Francis Petrarch, Archdeacon of Parma, which were sine titulo, written to his friend whom he might not name for fear of the Roman Clergy.  

MY friend, you crave to understand 
Epist. 8.   
New Rome's estate in this our Land:  
My pen cannot such skill obtain,  
Nor Cicero, if live again,  
Of that great Court t'express the glory  
Unparalleled by any story.  
For, what you ere have read of old,  
Or by report hath been you told,  
Of Babylon that Tower of pride,  
Where the Chaldeans did abide,  
Or of the uncouth Labyrinths four,  
Possessed by the Minotaur,  
Or of Avernus' filthy flood,  
Or of the Lake where Sodom stood,  
Compared with this, they are but fables,  
Reported by some fools at tables.  
Here is blaspheming Nimrod seen,  
Here is Semiramis the Queen:  
Here Minos sits as judge most fell,  
And Radamantus scourge of hell:  
Fowl Cerberus the gate doth keep,  
Pasiphae with the Bull must sleep,  
Whereof proceeds a monstrous race,  
Where Minotaurus keeps the place.  
So to be short, in former time,  
What Poets have set forth in rhyme,  
Of monsters which before came out,  
In it are seen to go about.  
Thy virtue brought thee to renown,  
Most happy thou that left'st the Town.  
If you suppose the City be  
In the same form you did it see,  
You are deceived much in that case,  
Although it stands in that same place.  
Of old it did abound with evils,  
But now it is a den of devils,  
A sink of sin, a gulf of pain,  
For those that still in it remain.  
Cease to admire, when as I call  
This Babylon the chief of all:  
Where can that Tower be placed best, 
Epist. 10.   
But in the quarters of the West,  
Inhabited as we now see,  
By people full of villainy?  
Believe me well, here in it dwells  
A Tyrant who in pride excels,  
More cruel than Cambyses King,  
Or the great Turk, whose wrath doth ring.  
Here are strange labrinthes in great store,  
men's souls in darkness to deflore.  
Here Venus with her wanton toys,  
Is honoured with base bawds and boys:  
Adultery, whoredom and incest,  
Is honoured here among the best.  
And counted but for sports and plays,  
Even with our Prelates of these days.  
The wife is ravished from her spouse,  
And to the Papal seat she bows.  
The poor good man must leave the Town,  
Such ordinances are set down:  
And when her belly riseth high,  
By Cardinals who with her lie,  
The husband must not dare complain,  
But take his wife with child again.  
All virtue is trod under foot,  
And out of doors all truth is shut:  
Where one man's favour is so sought,  
And with such flattery dear bought:  
Where bad men are esteemed best,  
And the poor just man sore oppressed:  
The God of heaven is chased away,  
And gold and silver bear the sway.  
Gold is the salve for every sore,  
It makes proud kings to brag no more.  
By gold heaven gates are open set,  
And who gives most, doth pardon get.  
Even Christ himself for gold is sold,  
And miracles wrought manifold.  
Came judas to this Court most trim, 
Epist. 17:   
Bringing his thirty pence with him,  
He'll be more welcome by Saint Steven,  
Then all the Saints that are in heaven.  
The Church of Christ, which was the place  
From whence did flow all health and grace,  
To tell the truth my heart it grieves,  
It's now become a den of thieves.  
Our Epicures with ducking nods,  
Do mock Religion, scorn the Gods.  
Of heavenly joys when they hear tell,  
And of the pains that are in hell,  
They think it but a merry jest,  
Devised by some idle Priest.  
The resurrection of the dead,  
And to be judged by Christ our head,  
They hold them but as feigned visions,  
Dreams of old wives or apparitions.  
If God of heaven do not prevent 
Epist. 11 & 13.   
The perils which are imminent,  
His house shall be in danger brought,  
And all his worship turned to nought:  
I plainly see, I dare not say,  
What trechrous means and subtle way,  
This Dionysius hath in heart,  
Our Syracuse to subvert:  
And what a mitre made of lead,  
Semiramis puts on her head,  
For to enchant her lovers so,  
That to her vile embracements go,  
Whereby all men of honest hearts,  
Are fled and banished from these parts.  
The Romans used of old t'eschew  
Such places where most pleasure grew:  
So bend they were in all degree,  
To train their youth up virtuously.  
Since so it is, who will not then  
Fly far from Babylon, that den,  
Where mischief and all infamy  
Doth reign and rage continually.  
I speak of things seen with mine eyes,  
Not heard by ears, nor tales, nor lies.  
Thus far I briefly have set down,  
The Court of Rome, state of our Town, 
Epist. 18.   
To you my friend, though not so plain,  
As by men's lives that hear remain  
You might discern and plainly see  
The whole abuse of this City.  
Wherefore in end I you exhort,  
Take this for truth which I report;  
If of thy soul thou hast a care,  
Let not thy mind think to come there  
Where never man could learn or see  
True virtue no nor piety.   
FINIS.   

EPITAPHS AND EPIGRAMS of Popes, Monks, and Friars, translated out of divers Authors.  

THE EPITAPH OF POPE CLEment the seventh, fixed on his tomb at Rome.  
THe fatal sisters now you see, 
Sylva quae reg no bapistico Thomae Naogeorgi accessit   
Have taken from this life  
Pope Clement who by perjury,  
Was author of great strife.  
Therefore rejoice all living wights, 
Clementemeripuit nobis clementia fati, etc.   
For this was e'en the man  
Who did deceive the Town by sleights,  
And all the world o'reran.  
This was the man no word could keep,  
To Princes nor to Kings,  
Although he had sworn never so deep,  
And promised great things.  
This was the man who vexed the Land  
With taxes, tributes sore,  
And gathered up with greedy hand  
The Country goods in store.  
This was the man who ran about,  
And raged with war and blood,  
Putting his own estate in doubt,  
to gain uncertain good.  
This was the man who would not spare  
To set his house on fire,  
If that by murdering here and there,  
He might have his desire.  
This was the man that spoiled the Town,  
And many widows made,  
By shedding blood both up and down,  
Of those that in it stayed.  
This was the man with sword that chased  
The Duke of Urbin so,  
And took his house, and lands defaced,  
And made him hence to go.  
This was the man without all cause,  
O Rome that brought to thee,  
Both sword and plague, and cruel laws,  
Such was his courtesy.  
This was the man that fostered bawds,  
And brothels first set down:  
Who brought in boys and handsome lads,  
A filthy thing in Town.  
Even this was he who in his life,  
Into the world brought shame,  
And every year did stir up strife,  
With ignominious name.  
Scorned was God by this vile Loon,  
Who had nor faith nor troth:  
All policy he wrested down,  
And did all goodness loath.  
Whiles he did live all things were dear  
throughout all Italy:  
Yet for all that he would not hear  
The people's misery.  
The famine that in Rome was then,  
He counted his best gain:  
And seemed pleased (unhappy man)  
With his own subject's pain.  
Infortunate he thought himself,  
That he could not destroy  
The world, and scrape all worldly pelf,  
Which was his chiefest joy.  
Thus living in a tedious life,  
By sickness sore aghast,  
He lay with the Physician's strife  
To help his days to last.  
Oft times he wished death to see:  
The destinies said no:  
They took delight most cruelly  
More to torment him so.  
For his reward he knew, in hell  
A thousand stripes to get:  
What he did merit to him fell,  
Like end a like life met.  
At last the Tyrant left this light,  
Now Citizens go cast  
His filthy carcase out of sight,  
Let Ravens devoured at last.  
Be blithe, the happy day is seen,  
Long wished for before:  
Make sports and plays both morn and even,  
And sorrow now no more.  
Let this be counted as a day  
most holy every year,  
That your posterity may say,  
Now we may no more fear.  
As Kings were banished of old,  
By consuls from this place:  
So now we shall no more behold  
This cruel Nero's face.   
FINIS.  

The Epitaph of Alexander the third, by Sanazar.  
STay passenger a space, thy wearied limbs to ease, 
Fortasse nescicuius hic tumulus fiet, adsta viator, etc.   
Perhaps thou knowst not who lies here entombed, stay if you please:  
'tis not great Philip's son, that all the world subdued,  
But Alexander filthy Pope, in bloodshed all embrued.  
Great Kingdoms he o'erthrew, and Cities turned to nought,  
All to advance his bastard brood, a world of mischief brought.  
This Land with fire and sword he utterly destroyed:  
And to subvert God's Laws and man's, his care he all employed:  
That he more freely might (o filthy to be told)  
Incestuously enjoy the child his lust begot of old.  
Yet he for all this sat & ruled proudly the papal Sea  
Eleu'n years, as great Pope and head in sole supremacy.  
Speak not of cruel Kings, old tyrants do not name,  
Caligula came short of him, and Heliogablus shame.  
The rest for modesty I cannot well declare,  
Suppose the worst, set on thy way, I wish thee well to far.   

The Epitaph of Paul the fourth.  
HEre lies unhappy Carrafa, abhorred of God and 
Pasquil.  man,  
His soul I fear to hell, his corpse to grave fast ran.  
No peace on earth he could abide, no honour done to God:  
The people and the Clergy both, he vexed at home, abroad.  
To enemies he yielded soon, his friends heloued in jest  
What would ye more? he was a Pope as false as all the rest.   

Epitaph of Pius the second.  
HEre do the bones of talking Pius lie, 
Kliberius. Frigida membra Pij retinet lapis iste, etc.   
Who by his death brought peace to Italy:  
Nations he sold, and many crimes unfit,  
He under show of virtue did commit.   

10. Sapidus in Sixtum.  
HEre Sixtus lies, the bawds lament his fall,  
Whores, dice, and wine, have lost a father all. 
sixth facet tamdem deslent tua busta cynaedi. Hoc iacet in tumulo Lucretia nomine, sed re Thais, etc. Papa Pius quintus moritur, etc.    

Epitaph of Lucrece Pontanus.  
LVcrece by name, Thais indeed, lies underneath this stone,  
Pope Alexander's daughter fair, his son's wife, and his own.   

Epitaph of Pius the fifth.  
Plus the fifth is dead, how wondrous ist to hear?  
That only five 'mongst such a crew, th' Almighty God did fear?   

EPIGRAMS. Mantuanus of Sixtus 4. in hell.  
BAld pated rescall thou, who liued'st only 
At tu Impluine caput cui tanta licentia, etc.   
To surfeit in thy filthy lechery,  
Thinkst thou thy mitre can thy doings cover,  
Or make us now to be theirs or thy lover?   

Pope joan being with child conjuring the devil had this answer.  
THou mother of Popes bring forth this popish 
Papa pater patrum papisse pandito partum, etc.  birth,  
And then I'll freely tell thee, when I'll come forth on earth.   

Marullus in Innoc. 8.  
WHat need this toil, to try this Pope a man, 
Quid quaeritu testes sit mas an faemina, etc.   
Behold his offspring clearly if ye can:  
Eight sons, as many daughters he begat,  
Rome needs not doubt, his sect were't but for that.   

Pontanus of Alexander 6.  
POpe Alexander sold the Altars, Christ and crosses, 
Vendit Alexander cruces altarea, etc.   
Why not, he bought them all before; 'twas to make up his losses.   

Albericus de Rosata.  
THe Court of Rome, disdains a sheep without the 
Curia Romana non capit ouens sine lana, etc.  skin,  
All they that bring are welcome guests, who bring nought come not in.   

Conradus Grebelius of julius 2.  
CAn he be good, that was son to a Genoweys, 
Genua cui patrem, etc.   
Begot upon a Grecian dame, and borne i'th' raging seas?  
Ligurians are all false, Greeks all men liars call,  
The Seas inconstant: julio, in thee we see them all.   

Pasquillus.  
WIth bawds and whores Pope julius & Sextus both were led,  
And Leo with foul Sodomies defil'd his loathed bed.  
Clement with furies vexed was, for filthy gotten gain: 
Clementem furiae vexant, etc.   
What hope of any good in thee? Paul shall with us remain.   

Mantuanus of the City.  
IF thou wouldst live a godly life, from Rome fly far 
Vivere qui sancte cupitis discedit Roma, etc.  away,  
All villainy in it is used, here goodness hath no sway.  
Nothing is here now to be found, but feigned lies and mocks,  
For which they daily bring in gold, to fill the Church's box.  
Virtue is banished from this Town, all honesty is gone:  
And wickedness and vices now possess the Roman throne.   

Pasquillus of Paul 4.  
What fury moves thee to take arms, in thy declining years?  
Old Carrafa thou'rt aged now, & age is full of fears.  
The camp thou dost not know so well, as Cloister's exercise,  
Thou want'st the nerves of war, that's gold, to make the soldiers rise.  
Why putst thou on thy head and back, such heavy arms as those  
Which thy weak body cannot bear, being used to better clothes?  
Why troublest thou this woeful land, with wounds yet groaning sore?  
And dost appall the God of war, to prove his valour more?  
Give rest we pray thee to thy flocks, and let us live in peace,  
Our holy father if thou be, and from thy battles cease.  
Lay off thy weighty load of arms, remember Christ his word,  
Which he unto Saint Peter spoke, when he did use his sword.   

The Pope's answer.  
THe words which Christ to Peter spoke, are no ways said to me,  
You do mistake (by Peter's leave) you are deceived, I see  
For why, I no way do succeed to Peter in that case,  
As many in the world have thought, since I usurped his place.  
The name of Paul I have ta'en on, his armour with his name,  
And follow him in every thing, ere his conversion came.  
Christ's words I do remember well, to me they nothing are,  
I came into the world in peace, but for to stir up war.   

Gilberti Ducerij Epigram de jul. 2.  
WHen holy julius to the field did go, 
Cum contra Gallos', &c.   
Against the Gauls, as old reports do show:  
Each day the City sounding loud alarms,  
He mustered forth great troops in glistering arms,  
And in a rage before the people's eyes,  
In Tiber's streams did throw the holy keys:  
Then pulling out his sword, he madly says,  
Against the French my foes, since now adays  
Saint Peter's keys cannot secure my state,  
Paul's sword all controversies shall debate.   

Io. Pannomus.  
ONce in thy Church, S. Peter, as we read, 
Foemina Petretua quondam ausa sedere Cathedra, etc.   
A woman ruled, and did possess thy chair,  
Until a Friar her holiness did lead  
Into the Conclave to the evening prayer:  
But her devotion turned to youthful pleasure,  
All are not Saints that outwardly seem holy,  
She in the sport did joy beyond all measure,  
Till time made up the fruits of loving folly.  
Then what a grief procured the great disgrace,  
To all who thought her father of the Saints?  
She shamefully was hurled from the place,  
And ever since Rome's policy prevents  
The like mishap; they now the Pope do place  
In a rich chair, hollow and bottomless,  
Where privately (to shun future disgrace)  
By nature's marks his manhood they express.  
But some to clear the doubt and shun suspects,  
Before they come to climb the Papal throne,  
Give full assurance of their manly sex,  
And make themselves first father of a son.   

Cordus lib. 2. Epigram in jul. 2.  
WHen julius ended here this mortal life, 
Mortuus ad superum, etc.   
To heaven ('tis said he went) but came too late,  
Two keys he had, with which he kept a strife,  
To try if those could open the sacred gate:  
But all in vain, the lock did it withstand,  
Nor would acknowledge his supremacy.  
Saint Peter hearing him, came to demand  
What sinful mortal knocked so saucily.  
The Pope said, Peter, knowest thou not my name?  
Look on my crown and slippers all of gold.  
Begun says Peter, you are much too blame,  
To claim a title in the thing you sold.   

Stigelius in Sylva.  
AMonke there was who in a night did bear, 
Per lunam monachui gradu citato, etc.   
By Moonshine light a Leman to his bed,  
Under his gown, and no suspect did fear,  
He thought she was so closely covered.  
By chance a Friar meets him in the way,  
Whose jealous eyes descries the wench's feet,  
He to the Monk in merriness did say,  
What load is that which makes you so to sweat?  
He answers, 'tis a saddle I did borrow,  
From one of my acquaintance dwells hard by,  
For I must ride a little way to morrow,  
Of some reports the certainty to try.  
The Friar hearing what a fine excuse  
The youth had forged, straight replies again,  
A little of my counsel prithee use  
Before thou go'st, it shall not be in vain.  
Let no man see what carriage you have there,  
Nor know what furniture you do provide,  
Lest some of your companions do prepare  
Themselves with you upon your mare to ride.   

Cordus lib. 6. Epigram.  
Six Monks together sitting on a draught, 
Sex una monachi dum consider, etc.   
Began to think upon their miseries,  
And how the world at all their Orders laughed,  
Scoffing their persons, slighting their Decrees.  
'Mongst whom was one that seemed to rule the rest,  
An aged father, whose old joints did shake,  
He from the bottom of his grieved breast,  
Fetching a sigh, thus to his brethren spoke.  
What though our stubborn flocks do run astray,  
And for a time their shepherds do forsake,  
Yet let us never cease to God to pray,  
That he some pity of our state may take.  
For since the Lord doth see his servants wrong,  
And will provide to keep them free from hurt,  
he'll take us up to heaven ere it be long,  
And drown the heretics into this dirt.  
This having said, the boards began to crack,  
The rotten floares fall from the walls and stairs,  
The Monks all tumbling down lie on their backs,  
And strive in vain, so heaven had heard their prayers.   

Cordus lib. 6. Epigram.  
A Country wench confessing once her sins,  
In time of Lent unto a Cordelier, 
Funigero peccata fatens virguncula fratri, etc.   
And from a long concealed thought begins,  
To speak, but hardly could she speak for fear:  
He still exhorted her for to discover  
The secret secrecy of all her thought,  
Affirming plainly, if she strove to smother  
The least offence, it would to light be brought.  
The wench amazed, at last begins to say,  
Last night, good Sir, at midnight I espied  
One of your brothers as asleep he lay,  
A bed stretched close down by my mistress side.  
The Friar mad to hear her speak so plain,  
Says, filthy hypocrite, dar'st thou this say,  
Thy mistress reputation thus to stain,  
It was S. Francis t'whom she then did pray,  
He that makes all our suits in heaven go right,  
Of whom we have our Order and our name,  
Who hears our cries by day, and sighs by night,  
'Twas he that in my brother's habit came.  
The wench replied, then be what Saint he will,  
He left his hose behind him in the place:  
If Saints of heaven wear clothes, I have no skill,  
I'm but an ignorant in such a case.  
Take heed (the Friar says) thou do not touch  
Those holy things, which relics we do call,  
And do pertain but only unto such  
As are confirmed in the Orders all.  
Tomorrow to the Church they shall be carried,  
As sacred relics still to be adored,  
By all such fruitless women as be married,  
And have no issue, than they shall be stored.   
FINIS.   

The Translators farewell to those of the Church of Rome.  

THus in the rudeness of our vulgar phrase,  
My rural Muse these lines hath harshly sung:  
Neither for envy, gain, nor hope of praise,  
As some perhaps may think, who do me wrong.  
For I protest my heart was ever free,  
I malice no man nor affect no name,  
The heavens that know my thoughts my witness be,  
I never hunted so much after fame.  
What herein I have said, was said before,  
By those who members of your Church did live,  
And such whose learning made the times adore  
Their worth, and due respects unto them give.  
There's nothing here which you can say I pick  
From out the railing libels (as you style them)  
Or poisoned writings of an heretic,  
Whom you so hate, and furiously revile them.  
Then gently pardon, all that I have done  
Your Church's dearest nurslings have approved,  
Whose eyes enlightened by the truest Sun,  
Oft wished those clouds of errors were removed.  
And that the Church, all darkness swept away,  
At length, though late, might clearly see the day.   
FINIS.