The bait of reward allures them.
I sing the traitors’ song.
“When the foe sacks everywhere,
When the Spaniard enters Antwerp,
Abbés, prelates, and army chiefs
Go through the streets of the town,
Clad in silk, bedecked with gold,
Their faces shining with good wine,
Displaying thus their infamy.
“And through them, the Inquisition