Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE RAILS AGAINST THE CORRUPTIONS OF THE ROMAN COURT

Rain fire from Heaven down upon thy head,
Thou breaker of Christ, thou Babylonian whore,
Grown fat and rich with making many poor,
Gloating in vice, despising simple bread!
Thou nest of treason where the soul is fed
Of malice and of wormy mischief more
Than pen or tongue may tell, thy stock and store
Is wine and huge sloth on a harlot's bed!
Graybeards and strumpets in thy chambers dance;
There staggers Belzebub, thy loathsome lord,
Amid foul mirrors apeing his advance.
Once wert unsilked, unsheltered and abhorred,
Stripped rather, stretched on straw, that now so plod
In filth, it stinks before the face of God!