Put downe the Spanish Inquisition.
Thrice happy wee (quoth I thinking thereon)
That see no dayes of persecution;
For were it free to kill, this grisly elfe
Wold martyrs make in compass of herselfe:
And were shee not prevented by our prayer,
By this time shee corrupted had the aire.
And am I innocent? and is it true,
That thing (which poet Plinye never knew,
Nor Africk, Nile, nor ever Hackluyts eyes