Qua si fa elmi. <br /> <br />Here helms and swords are made of chalices: <br />The blood of Christ is sold so much the quart: <br />His cross and thorns are spears and shields; and short <br />Must be the time ere even his patience cease. <br />Nay let him come no more to raise the fees <br />Of this foul sacrilege beyond report! <br />For Rome still flays and sells him at the court, <br />Where paths are closed to virtue's fair increase. <br />Now were fit time for me to scrape a treasure! <br />Seeing that work and gain are gone; while he <br />Who wears the robe, is my Medusa still. <br />God welcomes poverty perchance with pleasure: <br />But of that better life what hope have we, <br />When the blessed banner leads to nought but ill?<br /><br />Michelangelo Buonarroti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/iv-on-rome-in-the-pontificate-of-julius-ii/
