Then out spoke aged Latimer:-- "I tarry by the stake, Not trusting to my own weak heart, But for the Saviour's sake. Why speak of life or death to me, Whose days are but a span? Our crown is yonder--Ridley--see! Be strong, and play the man. God helping, such a torch this day We'll light on English land, That Rome and all her Cardinals Shall never quench the brand!" XVI. They died. O ask not how they died! May never witness tell, That once again on English ground Was wrought that deed of hell! The Consul, mad for Christian blood, Even in his deadliest rage, Was human when he opened up The famished lion's cage-- More human far than they of Rome, Who claimed the Christian name, When those, the ministers of Christ, Were writhing in the flame! XVII. Harlot of Rome! and dost thou come With bland demeanour now? The bridal-smile upon thy lips, The flush upon thy brow-- The cup of sorcery in thy hand, Still in the same array, As when our fathers in their wrath Dashed it and thee away? No! by the ashes of the saints, Who died beneath thy hand, Thou shalt not dare to claim as thine One foot of English land! XVIII. The echo of thy tread shall make The light still higher burn-- A blaze shall rise from Cranmer's grave And martyred Ridley's urn! A blaze which they who own thy power Shall stand aghast to see, A blaze that in your infamy Shall show both them and thee! Yes! send thy Cardinals again-- Once more array thy powers-- Their watchword is, The Pope of Rome-- The Word of God, be ours! W. I. MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE.--PART VI. BY PISISTRATUS CAXTON. CHAPTER XIII.