O good my Lord,
Wherein hath Ramus been so offencious?
Marry sir, in having a smack in all,
And yet didst never sound any thing to the depth.
Was it not thou that scoff'dst the Organon,
And said it was a heape of vanities?
He that will be a flat decotamest,
And seen in nothing but Epitomies:
Is in your judgment thought a learned man.
And he forsooth must goe and preach in Germany:
Excepting against Doctors actions,
And ipse dixi with this quidditie,
Argumentum testimonis est in arte partialis.
To contradict which, I say Ramus shall dye:
How answere you that? your nego argumentum
Cannot serve, Sirrah, kill him.
Not for my life doe I desire this pause,
But in my latter houre to purge my selfe,
In that I know the things that I have wrote,
Which as I heare one Shekins takes it ill,
Because my places being but three, contain all his:
I knew the Organon to be confusde,
And I reduc'd it into better forme.
And this for Aristotle will I say,
That he that despiseth him, can nere
Be good in Logick or Philosophie.
And thats because the blockish Sorbonests
Attribute as much unto their workes,
As to the service of the eternall God.
Why suffer you that peasant to declaime?
Stab him I say and send him to his freends in hell.
Nere was there Colliars sonne so full of pride.
And now sirs for this night let our fury stay.
Yet will we not the Massacre shall end:
Gonzago posse you to Orleance, Retes to Deep,
Mountsorrell unto Roan, and spare not one
That you suspect of heresy. And now stay
That bel that to the devils mattins rings.
Now every man put of his burgonet,
And so convey him closely to his bed.