A sternë stryf is stered newe In many stedes in a stounde, Of sondry sedes that ben sewe; 55 It semeth that som ben unsounde. For some be gretë growen +on grounde, Some ben souple, simple and small; Whether of hem is falser founde, The falser, foul mote him befall! 60 That oon syde is, that I of tell, Popes, cardinals, and prelates, Parsons, monkes, and freres fell, Priours, abbottes of grete estates; Of heven and hell they kepe the yates, 65 And Peters successours they ben all; This is demed by oldë dates; But falshed, foul mote it befall! The other syde ben poore and pale, And people put [al] out of prees; 70 And semë caytifs sore a-cale, And ever in oon without encrees, +I-cleped lollers and londlees; Who toteth on hem, they been untall. They ben arayed all for the pees; 75 But falshed, foul mote it befall! Many a countrey have I sought, To know the falser of these two; But ever my travail was for nought, All so fer as I have go. 80 But as I wandred in a wro, In a wode besyde a wall, Two foules saw I sitte tho; The falser, foul mote him befall! That oon did plede on the Popes syde, 85 A Griffon of a grim stature. A Pellicane withouten pryde To these lollers layde his lure; He mused his matter in mesure, To counsayl Christ ever gan he call. 90 The Griffon shewed as sharp as fyre, But falshed, foul mote it befall! The Pellican began to preche Both of mercy and of mekeness; And sayd, that "Christ so gan us teche, 95 And meke and merciable gan bless. The Evangely bereth witness A lamb, he lykneth Christ over-all, In tokening that he mekest was, Sith pryde was out of heven fall. 100 And so shulde every Christned be; Preestes, Peters successours, Beth lowlich and of low degree, And usen none erthly honours, Neyther crown, ne curious cove[r]tours, 105 Ne +pelure, ne other proudë pall; Ne nought to cofren up greet tresours; For falshed, foul mote it befall! Preest[e]s shuld for no cattel plede, But chasten hem in charitè; 110 Ne to no batail shuld men lede For inhaunsing of hir own degree; Nat wilnë sittings in hy see, Ne soverayntè in hous ne hall; All worldly worship defye and flee; 115 For who willeth highnes, foul shal fall! Alas! who may such sayntes call That wilneth welde erthly honour? As lowe as Lucifer such shal fall, In baleful blacknesse y-builde hir bour; 120 That eggeth the people to errour, And maketh hem to hem [be] thrall; To Christ I hold suche oon traytour, As lowe as Lucifer such shal fall.