Alarm at Rome

We fear that Christ must come once more
To land Saint Peter on our shore,
For never were the Fisher's sails
So torn and tattered by the gales.

What if his Lord he did deny,
And added many another lie.

Was he not long ago forgiven
And made the viceroy king of heaven ?

Must he then stoop his crown from thence
To catch in it a pauper's pence ?

O shame of shames ! his eldest son
Quizzes, and cries By Jove ! what fun !