If my decreed election may not stand, I vow by heau’n, henceforth I will restraine Those passages to Rome out of this land, Which you hereafter will repent in vaine, Since by the same you haue no little gaine: For what need we to Rome a gadding go, Since many learned men this land can show?” 41. Hence grew the hate that after did ensue, Heaping on wrongs vpon my grieued head: Rome’s _Innocent_ when he these lines did view, Kindled with wrath, on raging furie fed, Which through his brest a deadly venom spred: Whose breath did soone infect our subiects blood, And bred a plague vnto the generall good. 42. Thinking it shame to his pompaticke state, To winke at my contempt of his command, With lips prophane, big swolne with eager hate, He breaths his curse gainst me, and gainst my land, To last so long as I his will withstand: And lockes vp all church gates by his great word, Forbidding vs accesse vnto the Lord. 43. Thou proud vsurper of our _Peter’s_ key, Behold thy sinne, and blush at thy foule shame, Why didst thou locke the gate that leads the way Vnto the holy place? why didst thou name Thy selfe the rocke on whom that power that came To saue the world, his sacred church should found, And yet didst cast it then vnto the ground? 44. My people frightned with the roaring threat Of wrathfull bulles to England daily sent, Their due alleageance to their lord forget: Th’inglorious peeres, as if the gouernment Had been transferr’d from _Iohn_ to _Innocent_, Did shrinke from me, and would not by me stand, For th’impeacht priuiledge of our free land. 45. Yet could all this not stoope my noble hart, The rebell priests, that did at his command Pronounce his curse prophane, did feele the smart Of their offence, and from my furious hand T’escape my vow’d reuenge, did flie the land, Leauing their sweet possessions for a pray, Which to my friends I freely gaue away. 46. After this curse it seem’d my blisse begun: For when the stubborne Irish did rebell, Meth witnesse be of my atchieuements done: And let cold Snowden’s barren mountaines tell, How the rebellious Welch my hand did quell: No wofull fate befell me at this season, Till my false peeres began to practise treason. 47.