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The rewarde of Wickednesse

Discoursing the sundrye monstrous abuses of wicked and vngodlye worldelinges: in such sort set downe and written as the same haue beene dyuersely practised in the persones of Popes, Harlots, Proude Princes, Tyrauntes, Romish Byshoppes, and others. With a liuely description of their seuerall falles and finall destruction. Uerye profitable for all sorte of estates to reade and looke vpon. Nevvly compiled by Richard Robinson

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Newes betwene the Pope and Pluto, and of the Proclamation about the Ladder twixt Hell and Heauen.
 
 
 



Newes betwene the Pope and Pluto, and of the Proclamation about the Ladder twixt Hell and Heauen.

Thus leauing Helen in endlesse woe and paine,
Through yrkesome vale from crag to crag we crept:
Tormented sprites we hearde of eche side plaine,
Thousandes thousandes, schryking cryed and wept,
Linckt fast in chaynes, with cruell Keepers kept.
Whose name and actes we listed not to craue,
But passed foorth to vewe the monstrous caue.
Till at the length to a steepe and hawtie hill,

Sisiphus for his desolute and vicious liuing.


We chaunst to come whereas me thought I see,
One rowling vp a stone that tumbleth on him still.
Thus night and daye from toyling rests not hee.
Also Duke Theseus for his tirannye,
Bitten with Uipers and torne with Toades in sunder,
In a pitte or puddle, that belched light and thunder.
Eneas following Sibil rounde about that denne,
Up hill from crag to crooked Torre he runnes,
His wandering limmes still treades the filthie fenne,
In hope to haue in sight that alwayes shunnes.
Also women drewe water in buckets that runnes.
With very manye mo to long to name,
As then me thought had plagues much like the same.
But as wee went mee thought I sawe a glade,

There are moe wayes to hell then one.


That made a shoe as it a passage were,
Which was in deede of very purpose made,
From thence to Rome erectes a mightie stere.
And Gorgon with a Clubbe was Porter there,

This is the waye frō Rome to Pluto.


Except from Rome, in, there he might not passe,
Or else some suche as trusted in the Masse.


This way passe soules from paines to endelesse blisse,

The waye that soules passe thorowe betwene heauē and hel.


When please the Pope to sende his letters thither,
Morpheus and I experience saw of this,
The Popes man and wee met altogither,
Who brought Pardons packt vp in a bouget of lether.
Besides letters that to Pluto then he deliuered,
On the which Pluto looked, perusde, and considered.
Where vpon Pluto his counsell calde straight,
A filthie heape of crooked noble states,
To here their mindes because it was of weight,
To gratifie the Pope and all his holye mates,
Sende for the messenger, and so these wordes debates.
My friende (quoth hee) tha'rt welcome to this place,
So are they all that loue thy maysters grace.
But by the floodes of dreadfull flaming Styx,
The newes thy maister writtes doe grieue my guttes ful sore,
For reuenge, these clawes as sharpe as thornie prickes,
Shall tosse and teare the sprites of many a score,
(Ah worthy Pope) thy decay I much deplore.
A Cater for my Kitchine, prouider of the praye,
What meruell though I curse the cause of thy decaye?
And with these wordes his scowling face lets poure,
The gushing floodes and spowtes of fier red,
He gnasht his teeth and gan to glowte full soure,
With belching breath, to'th messenger thus sayde:
Take here an aunswere vnto my supreme heade.
(Byd him be merye) I shall assistaunce sende,
To taxe all suche, as with him doe contende.
With a romishe thankes, the messenger packeth,
Charged with the letters that Pluto doth sende,
Poste horses by commission in eache place he taketh,
Untill he ariued at the stayers ende,


Whereas from Lymbo to Roome he should ascende,
Being a lustie Lurdaine a Fryer of Saint Fraunces,
Twixt Rome and hel from steppe to steppe he daunces.
Thus the Fryer fled we hearde no more of him,
But straight on a stage a Trumpet sounded was,
Wherevnto assembled such soules as for sinne,
Were sent by the Pope to be punisht alas,
Who thought to be pardoned by vertue of the masse.
Else hoping to heare of the Popes comming thither,
Then thinking to be releast from thence altogither.
When silence was made with much a doe,
This yll faste Herraulde these wordes then declared:
That many men to the Pope were vntrue,
And their large offrings and deuotions nowe spared,
For to come to God other meanes they prepared.
Hauing no trust in the Pope nor his traditions,
But cal him the Captaine of Idolatrous superstitions.
To our Prince Pluto his letters doe declare,
That toward the North Pole Gods word is so embraste:
That no man for pardons will giue mony nor ware,
(In Englande especially) he is vtterly disgraste.
Except among a fewe here and there that are plaste.
That with their friendes in nowkes and odde holes,
Sing a masse of Requiem for al christian soules.
Which is to no purpose the money being gone,
That maintayned his grace and all his whole rowte,
His Cardinals, his Abbottes, his Friers, with sir Iohn,
His Nunnes, and his Ancrees, and all be thrust out,
His Pardnors go begging and wandring about.
The shauelings be shronken that once bare the swaye,
Their credite and customes be runne to decaye.
And Boner that bolstred the beames of his glorie,
Lyeth Sunke in the sandes that onse beare the blade:


That many a Christian therewith made full sorie,
A while in Christes Uineyarde he cut a great glade,
And stoute Storie that all the sturre made.

Storie Gardines. Fecknam.


Gardiner is wanting that was the blood letter,
And Fecknam is fast that was the clocke setter.
Besyde an infinite number within that same Ile,
That now be decayed and worne out of minde:
Banisht is Babilon that florisht ere while,
And the way to Ierusalem by the Gospell they finde
The Pope they repute to be a guide blinde.
They passe not a pin, for his blessinges nor curses,
Let him saye what he will, they holde fast their purses.
And in place of his friendes are starte vp his foes,
And one cruell Captaine that workes all the griefe,
A Iewell of Christ Iesus gaue Harding the bloes,

Iuell. Harding.


Confuting his fables in spite of his teeth,
Hee feedes the poore flocke with Christian beleefe.
Squencht is the confidence I say of our Harding,
Thers none young nor olde that esteemes him a farding.
One Barthlet wee may ban throughout this whole vale:
And so may the Pope with Candle, Booke and Bell,
In the Papall pedigrewe, hee tels such a tale,
That all Romish Roges may rore to heare tell,
That Christians had knowledge of the trumprye they seu.
For he tippes vp the sacke, and all poureth out,
From the first to the last, he rappes the whole route.
(This and much more) being the iust cause,
Of the Popes great plague and miserable want:
(I meane of money) to maintaine his lawes,
Perforce must perswade you, that here make your plaint,
Considering Gods worde hath him on the tainte.
You wofull soules that in Purgatorie lye,
Must yet here remaine there is good cause why.


(Which is this) you know the Pope hath been at cost,
To found betwixt Pluto and Rome these stayres:
And nowe it is like, that his labour is lost,
Because that his customes and credite thus weares:
Yet hee hath set Priests, Munkes, Nunnes, and Friers.
And the rest of his Rable in hande for to make,
A Ladder to reache into Heauen for your sake.

The building of the Lader and the timber with the workmen.

And vp it was reared, yeares long a goe,

And well vnderset with Dyrges and Masses:
With Popishe Props, thousandes on a roe,
As Pardons, Buls, Idols, Holy water, and Ashes:
Palmes, and holy Bread, and many olde Trashes,
Lampes, Lightes, Crossing and Creeping,
And all to redresse your pitifull weeping.
Singing, and Ringing, with Belles euery where,
Sensing, and Fensing with Booke Bell and Candle:
Cursing, and Praying, of Muncke, Nun, and Frier,
Night, daye and hower, al thing for to handle:
Like workemen worthy, not bunglers to Scamble.
A building to bolte so hye in the skyes,
doth craue Cunning workemen, and such as are wise.

The cause of the fall thereof.

But loe (alas) the Popes willing minde,

For money to release you of these bitter paines:
So many thousandes stroue this Ladder to climbe,
That you mist the Heauen, and hee his great gaines:
For bending it brake, with waight of your Chaines.
By meanes whereof, therein, who put trust,
World without ende, remaine heere they must.

The tormented soules perswaded to dwell foreuer in paines.

And too short it was, by full ten degrees,

And neuer could reach Gods glorye and blisse:
Although hee, and his, were as busie as Bees,
In thende it woulde haue prouided but this:
Wherefore bee contented no remeedye is,


Tyl the Ladder bee mended, hence to dispatche yee,
Or els that the Pope, come him selfe for to fetch yee.
The Gospell of Christ, hath throughly confounded,
Not onely this Ladder, of the Popes owne deuice:
But also destroyde al them that first founded
The painted helles, and paper Paradice:
Heare among vs, they shall playe theyr Price.
Theyr stinking Idolatrye, and vile Superstition,
As holye as they bee, heare findes no remission.
Therefore it is Pultos pleasure that you knowe,
What fortune hath hapned, your Father the Pope:
Hee him selfe to Heauen, is not able to goe,
Except Saint Peter, hale him vp in a Roape:
Or that hee chaunse to bee pulde by his Coape,
By our Lady of Walsingham, & sweet Roode of Chester
Else his porcion in Heauen, is scant worth a Testar.
These wordes being saide, hee dismounteth the stage,
Saying, vengeance, and torment, protect Plutos grace:
At the which cryed out with terrible rage,
Both yong and olde that were in that place:
A sight to sorrowfull, in beholding theyr case.
(I meane) of al such, as put trust in the Masse,
These Newes made theyr torments much worse then it was.
To see the sorrowfull sort hale one another,
Crying out on the Popes, and his shauelinges there:
The Father, the Sonne, the Daughter, the Mother,
The Uncle, the Aunte, and Grandsier appeare:
To the ninthe degree, thousandes there were
Both Ritch and Poore, that trusted to the Masse,
Not one of them all, but I am sure there hee was.
Some cryde fye of Idols, and some of holye water,
Some of Supersticion, and some of Scala celi:
Other some lamented, the mumbling of Lady Psalter,


(Alas) quod another, this will not preuaile yee,
Now maye you see, their trumprye doth faile yee.
So it doth them selues, for loe where they lye,
That late hoyst theyr Gods, in Haulters full hye.
And loe (quoth hee) where they bee singing a Masse,
Pope Alexander, Pope Ioane, and both vnder a stoale:
See you not the sweete blood of hayles in a glasse,
Which Idoll brought hither many a poore soule?
A Pardoner mee thinke standes by with a scrowle.
Some officer bee like of Saint Iohns sweete Frary,
Looke who is in his bookes it is best you prepare yee.
At which wordes such a number brake out,
Of Caues and Sinkes on euery side:
As Tipling Bibs, and Suckers of growte,
Sect Sowers, and Brewbates, thyther fast bide:
Tutors, and Teltales, in euery nowke cryde.
Pickethankes and Prowlers, beare holy water,
Their maisters (being worldlings) sayd Confiteor, and Misereator.
Flattery light Lampes, to our Lady of grace,
Ipocrisie, calde them vp to the offering,
Saint Anne of Buckstones was washing a pace:
But Lucre was lifting small pence to the Coffering.
At shrieft they were close in euery place.
Twoo faces in one hoode, the Crosse then did beare,
Whereat abhomination, beganne for to sweare.
Great deuision there seemed to bee,
All that were there, did knocke on theyr breast:
But (alas) to late for to crye then Peccaui,
Althoughe the Pope both Crossed and bleste,
For when hee lookte backe, at Ite missa est:
When Dan Limlifter, the Candles should oute,
All flewe on a fire their Colledge through out.
Howe the Ladder was amended, that lately was craisht
After that time trulie of no man I aihste.
FINIS.