Bring out your treasures,
Which by evil arts of persuasion
You have heaped up and hold,
Which you shut up in darkling cave.
Public utility demands this,
The privy purse demands it, the treasury demands it,
That the soldiers may be paid for their services,
And the commander may benefit thereby.
This is your dogma, then:
Give every man his own.
Now Caesar recognises his own
Image, stamped on the coin.
What you know to be Caesar's, to Caesar
Give; surely what I ask is just.
If I am not mistaken, your Deity
Coins no money,
Nor when he came did he bring
Golden Jacobuses[3] with him;
But he gave his precepts in words,
Empty in point of pocket.
Fulfil the promise of the words
Which you sell the round world over.
Give up your hard cash willingly,
Be rich in words.
(_Prudentius, Hymn on St. Lawrence_).
Whom does this speaker resemble. Against whom does he rage? What
Church is it whose sacred vessels, lamps, and ornaments he is
pillaging, whose ritual he overthrows? Whose golden patens and
silver chalices, sumptuous votive offerings and rich treasure,
does he envy? Why, the man is a Lutheran all over.
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