I still am Gregory. Never hand but mine
Can dare uncrown me. Let him dread my curse
Who’d force me to it. Yea, that hand will shrivel
Ere it uncrowns me. People the world with Popes,
There’s but one Peter. Look on this my sorrow
Embittering with its pangs mine olden age,
And know what I have done for Holy Church.
By that sweet face that lieth there in death,
A martyr, if ever was one, to God’s great cause,
I bid you go and tell proud Henry, yea,