"St. Peter's chair is filled to-day as well As when 'twas fouled by Gerbert's sorcery; For he consigned himself alone to hell, While this pope thither drags all Christentie. Why are the chastisements of Heaven delayed? How long wilt thou in slumber lie, O Lord? Thy work is hindered and thy word gainsaid, Thy treasurer steals the wealth that thou hast stored. Thy ministers rob here and murder there, And o'er thy sheep a wolf has shepherd's care."[44] Walther's echo is heard from the other end of Europe in the Troubadour Pierre Cardinal, who enlarges on the same theme in a manner to show how popular were these invectives and how completely they expressed the general feeling: "I see the pope his sacred trust betray, For, while the rich his grace can gain alway, His favors from the poor are aye withholden. He strives to gather wealth as best he may, Forcing Christ's people blindly to obey, So that he may repose in garments golden. The vilest traffickers in souls are all His chapmen, and for gold a prebend's stall He'll sell them, or an abbacy or mitre. And to us he sends clowns and tramps who crawl Vending his pardon briefs from cot to hall-- Letters and pardons worthy of the writer, Which leave our pokes, if not our souls, the lighter. "No better is each honored cardinal. From early morning's dawn to evening's fall, Their time is passed in eagerly contriving To drive some bargain foul with each and all. So, if you feel a want, or great or small, Or if for some preferment you are striving, The more you please to give the more 'twill bring, Be it a purple cap or bishop's ring. And it need ne'er in any way alarm you That you are ignorant of everything To which a minister of Christ should cling, You will have revenue enough to warm you-- And, bear in mind, that lesser gifts won't harm you. "Our bishops, too, are plunged in similar sin, For pitilessly they flay the very skin From all their priests who chance to have fat livings. For gold their seal official you can win To any writ, no matter what's therein. Sure God alone can make them stop their thievings. 'Twere hard, in full, their evil works to tell, As when, for a few pence, they greedily sell The tonsure to some mountebank or jester, Whereby the temporal courts are wronged as well, For then these tonsured rogues they cannot quell, Howe'er their scampish doings may us pester, While round the church still growing evils fester.