Quod non capit Christus, rapit fiscus
Where covetousnes the scepter doth supporte,
There, greedie gripes the Kinge dothe ofte extoll:
Bicause, he knowes they, doe but make a sporte,
His subjectes poore, to shave, to pill, and poll?
And when he sees, that they are fatte, and full?
He cuttes them of, that he maye have theire wolle?
Unto a sponge, theise are resembled righte:
Which drie at firste, when it with water swelles,
The hande that late did wette it, being lighte:
The same againe, the moisture quite expelles.
And to the floode, from whence it latelie came,
It runnes againe, with wringinge of the same.