Europe should tremble

Infidels! Infidels all! And the worst of the infidels are those beholden to that sodden priest who fools only women and children with his claim to the chair of Peter. They wander here, they wander there. They sail into the frigid wastes where only the blue-skinned Norsemen should freeze their shriveled manhoods. And yet they allow the Saxon scriveller to thwart them all. With a handful of ragged princelings and monks whose satanic drivel stirs only the beggars of the street this Luther has humbled the great princes and emperors of the rump of Rome. Were their legions once again lost in ambush in the dark and frozen forests of the Germans? No! They dared not even venture into them. Perhaps they feared that the stuffed bears would be, that night, feasting out of doors. These infidels are truly weak. They squabble amongst themselves and none are fit to be the ally of Suleiman. In spite of this I have seized the Hungarian crown and given it to the least of my slaves. I have united the great city of Venice with my own beloved Kostantiniyye and the day will come when even Vienna shall finally fall to the Conqueror.

1 Here we see the plotting of the Infidels

2 The witless Roman infidels

3 Who's this guy?

4 The English accused

5 Heresy is spread

6 Fear of perdition

7 Heretic smirk

Full sized, blasphemous images; click here

But, for now, it is time for me to wash the dust of Rome from my hands and return to my Harem where my favorite, Roxelana, has too long been kept waiting.

Throne of my lonely niche, my wealth, my love, my moonlight.
My most sincere friend, my confidant, my very existence, my Sultan, my one and only love.
The most beautiful among the beautiful…
My springtime, my merry faced love, my daytime, my sweetheart, laughing leaf…
My plants, my sweet, my rose, the one only who does not distress me in this world…
My Istanbul, my Caraman, the earth of my Anatolia
My Badakhshan, my Baghdad and Khorasan
My woman of the beautiful hair, my love of the slanted brow, my love of eyes full of mischief…
I'll sing your praises always
I, lover of the tormented heart, Muhibbi of the eyes full of tears, I am happy.

-Suleiman the Lawgiver