The Byble boke, an heape of witnes sure.
Thy teath also, thyne argumentes most strong
With whiche thou doest all heresies deuour,
Are lyke the flocke whiche shorne cum vp along
The washyng place, Gods wurd that doeth them scour.
Of whiche eche one in it two twinnes doeth bear,
Gods wurd, and truth, and not so muche as one
Js voyde therof: with these teeth thou doest tear
Abuses byg, that thynke to rule alone.
Thy lyppes, thy speche is lyke the skarlet red,
Whiche for the elect, thy sauiour Christ doest preache,
Afflicte in fleshe, with bloud his crosse bebled,
To faythfull folke a swete and pleasaunt speache.
Thy Chekes thy wurkes are louely, fayre and good
Lyke to a broken piece of Pomegranade
Whiche spring of faythe by merit of my blood,
Besides thy tyre, my wurkes that wyll not fade.
Thy necke thy faythe, is lyke to Dauids tower,
Whiche buylded is with bulwarkes, whereupon
A thousand shyldes of truthe, whiche men of power
Jn faythe, haue borne, doe hang to fraye thy foen.
Thy brestes, thy helpe to succour all that nede
Alwayes at wurke, are lyke two litle twinnes,
The whiche among the faythfull Lillies seede
Tyll shadowes passe, and tyll the daye begynnes.