The bishop is in haste to intrude himself into other people's pastures, and fills himself with other people's goods. The ravenous archdeacon is compared to an eagle, because he has sharp eyes to see his prey afar off, and is swift to seize upon it. The dean is represented by an animal with a man's face, full of silent guile, who covers fraud with the form of justice, and by the show of simplicity would make others believe him to be pious. In this spirit the faults of the clergy, of all degrees, are minutely criticised through between four and five hundred lines; and it must not be forgotten that it was the English clergy whose character was thus exposed. _Tu scribes etiam, forma sed alia, Septem ecclesiis quæ sunt in Anglia._ Others of these pieces are termed Sermons, and are addressed, some to the bishops and dignitaries of the church, others to the pope, others to the monastic orders, and others to the clergy in general. The court of Rome, we are told, was infamous for its greediness; there all right and justice were put up for sale, and no favour could be had without money. In this court money occupies everybody's thoughts; its cross--i. e. the mark on the reverse of the coin--its roundness, and its whiteness, all please the Romans; where money speaks law is silent. _Nummis in hac curia non est qui non vacet; Crux placet, rotunditas, et albedo placet, Et cum totum placeat, et Romanis placet, Ubi nummus loquitur, et lex omnis tacet._ Perhaps one of the most curious of these poems is the "Confession of Golias," in which the poet is made to satirise himself, and he thus gives us a curious picture of the goliard's life. He complains that he is made of light material, which is moved by every wind; that he wanders about irregularly, like the ship on the sea or the bird in the air, seeking worthless companions like himself. He is a slave to the charms of the fair sex. He is a martyr to gambling, which often turns him out naked to the cold, but he is warmed inwardly by the inspiration of his mind, and he writes better poetry than ever. Lechery and gambling are two of his vices, and the third is drinking. "The tavern," he says, "I never despised, nor shall I ever despise it, until I see the holy angels coming to sing the eternal requiem over my corpse. It is my design to die in the tavern; let wine be placed to my mouth when I am expiring, that when the choirs of angels come, they may say, 'Be God propitious to this drinker!' The lamp of the soul is lighted with cups; the heart steeped in nectar flies up to heaven; and the wine in the tavern has for me a better flavour than that which the bishop's butler mixes with water.... Nature gives to every one his peculiar gift: I never could write fasting; a boy could beat me in composition when I am hungry; I hate thirst and fasting as much as death."