here it is:
You messenger that comes from Rome,
The Place whence bulls and sermons come
Against our poets you appeal;
Well show your writting and your seal.
Come, priest, display your written ban;
From Peter's heir, that holy man;
If 'tis too sacred to be shown,
Then make its general purport known.
We've stood your sermons long enough;
We want the authentic roman stuff,
And even if you change your tone,
There's hame enough already done.
Rome never made your silly rules.
What, banish all the bardic schools?
Such mouldy style, such lore unsound
On Roman soil never found.
Well, can't the document be shown,
That shall our royal art unthrone?
Come, Cleric, and obey our call!
Come, out with your encyclical!
Words decent author never wrote,
And turgid stuff, not worth a groat,
Low English learining, misapplied
Against our bards, our country's pride!
In learned books sweet poetry
Is 'Donum Dei' frequently,
And if the sense of this we sift,
'Tis very clear it means 'God's Gift.'
If 'tis forbid to pay for lays.
And good men are debarred from praise,
Why, then, perhaps, it does not matter
If scoudrels are immune from satire.
I have to go, I will finish this latter.
