Ever since decrees had tails,
And gendarmes lugged heavy mails,
Since each monk would have a horse,
All went here from bad to worse.
I understand you, answered Homenas; this is one of the quirks and little satires of the new-fangled heretics.
How by the virtue of the decretals, gold is subtilely drawn out of France to Rome.
I would, said Epistemon, it had cost me a pint of the best tripe that ever can enter into gut, so we had but compared with the original the dreadful chapters, Execrabilis, De multa, Si plures; De annatis per totum; Nisi essent; Cum ad monasterium; Quod delectio; Mandatum; and certain others, that draw every year out of France to Rome four hundred thousand ducats and more.
Do you make nothing of this? asked Homenas. Though, methinks, after all, it is but little, if we consider that France, the most Christian, is the only nurse the see of Rome has. However, find me in the whole world a book, whether of philosophy, physic, law, mathematics, or other humane learning, nay, even, by my God, of the Holy Scripture itself, will draw as much money thence? None, none, psha, tush, blurt, pish; none can. You may look till your eyes drop out of your head, nay, till doomsday in the afternoon, before you can find another of that energy; I’ll pass my word for that.
Yet these devilish heretics refuse to learn and know it. Burn ’em, tear ’em, nip ’em with hot pincers, drown ’em, hang ’em, spit ’em at the bunghole, pelt ’em, paut ’em, bruise ’em, beat ’em, cripple ’em, dismember ’em, cut ’em, gut ’em, bowel ’em, paunch ’em, thrash ’em, slash ’em, gash ’em, chop ’em, slice ’em, slit ’em, carve ’em, saw ’em, bethwack ’em, pare ’em, hack ’em, hew ’em, mince ’em, flay ’em, boil ’em, broil ’em, roast ’em, toast ’em, bake ’em, fry ’em, crucify ’em, crush ’em, squeeze ’em, grind ’em, batter ’em, burst ’em, quarter ’em, unlimb ’em, behump ’em, bethump ’em, belam ’em, belabour ’em, pepper ’em, spitchcock ’em, and carbonade ’em on gridirons, these wicked heretics! decretalifuges, decretalicides, worse than homicides, worse than patricides, decretalictones of the devil of hell.
As for you other good people, I must earnestly pray and beseech you to believe no other thing, to think on, say, undertake, or do no other thing, than what’s contained in our sacred decretals and their corollaries, this fine Sextum, these fine Clementinae, these fine Extravagantes. O deific books! So shall you enjoy glory, honour, exaltation, wealth, dignities, and preferments in this world; be revered and dreaded by all, preferred, elected, and chosen above all men.