Would I might sink presently into the earth, so I might blow up this
Rome, this whore of 　Babylon, into the air with my breath. If I must
be banished, if those heathen dogs will needs rob me of my goods, I
will poison their springs and conduit-heads whence they receive
all their water round about the city; I'll tice all the young children into
my house that I can get, and cutting their throats, barrel them up in
powdering beef tubs, and so send them to victual the Pope's galleys.
Ere the officers come to extend, I'll bestow an hundred pound on a
dole of bread which I'll cause to be kneaded with scorpions' oil that
will kill more than the plague. I'll hire them that make their wafers or
sacramentary gods, to minge them after the same sort, so in the zeal
of their superstitious religion shall they languish and drop like carrion.
If there be ever a blasphemous conjurer that can call the winds from
their brazen caves, and make the clouds travail before their time, I'll
give him the other hundred pounds to disturb the heavens a whole week
together with thunder and lightning, if it be for nothing but to sour all the
wines in Rome, and turn them to vinegar. As long as they have either oil
or wine, this plague feeds but pinglingly upon them.