Humanae traditiones

AT last my braunch doth wither and decay,
And with the ruine downe my selfe doe fall,
Whose pride did loath on surer ground to stay,
But needes would raigne as KING vpon the wall,
To overlooke in scorne the shrubs below,
That did (I find) in greater safetie growe.

By this same tree, are all Traditions ment,
And what else hammer'd out of humane braine,
That on the Rocke, to rest are not content,
But puffed vp with pride, and glory vaine;
Vnto their shame, doe moulder downe, and fall,
As doth this Elder growing on the wall.