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Poem	SONNET CV. Fiamma dal ciel su le tue treccie piova. HE INVEIGHS AGAINST THE COURT OF ROME. Vengeaunce must fall on thee, thow filthie whoreOf Babilon, thow breaker of Christ's fold,That from achorns, and from the water colde,Art riche become with making many poore.Thow treason's neste that in thie harte dost holdeOf cankard malice, and of myschief moreThan pen can wryte, or may with tongue be tolde,Slave to delights that chastitie hath solde;For wyne and ease which settith all thie storeUppon whoredome and none other lore,In thye pallais of strompetts yonge and oldeTheare walks Plentie, and Belzebub thye Lorde:[Pg 136]Guydes thee and them, and doth thye raigne upholde:It is but late, as wryting will recorde,That poore thow weart withouten lande or goolde;Yet now hathe golde and pryde, by one accorde,In wickednesse so spreadd thie lyf abrode,That it dothe stincke before the face of God. (?) Wyatt.[T] May fire from heaven rain down upon thy head,Thou most accurst; who simple fare casts by,Made rich and great by others' poverty;How dost thou glory in thy vile misdeed!Nest of all treachery, in which is bredWhate'er of sin now through the world doth fly;Of wine the slave, of sloth, of gluttony;With sensuality's excesses fed!Old men and harlots through thy chambers dance;Then in the midst see Belzebub advanceWith mirrors and provocatives obscene.Erewhile thou wert not shelter'd, nursed on down;But naked, barefoot on the straw wert thrown:Now rank to heaven ascends thy life unclean. Nott.
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