He maketh bishops for erthly thank, 405 And nothing for Christes sake; Such that ben ful fatte and rank, To soulë hele non hede they take. Al is well don what ever they make, For they shal answere at +ones for all; 410 For worldes thank, such worch and wake, And all such falsë shall foul fall! Suche that +connë nat hir Crede With prayer shull be mad prelates; Nother +conne the gospell rede, 415 Such shull now welde hye estates. The hye goodes frendship hem makes, They toteth on hir somme totall; Such bere the keyes of hell-yates, And all such falsë shall foul fall. 420 They forsake, for Christes love, Traveyl, hunger, thurst, and cold; For they ben ordred ever all above Out of youthe til they ben old. By the dore they go nat in-to the fold, 425 To helpe +hir sheep they nought travall; Hyred men all suche I holde, And all such falsë, foule hem fall! For Christ hir king they woll forsake, And knowe him nought for his povert; 430 For Christes lovë they woll wake, And drink pyment [and] ale apart. Of god they seme nothing a-ferd; As lusty liveth, as Lamuall, And dryve hir sheep into desert; 435 All such faytours shull foul fall! Christ hath twelve apostels here; Now say they, ther may be but oon, That may nat erre in no manere; Who leveth nat this, ben lost echoon! 440 Peter erred, so dide nat John; Why is he cleped the principall? Christ cleped him Peter, but himself the stoon; All falsë faytours, foule hem fall! Why cursen they the croysery, 445 Christes Christen crëatures? For bytwene hem is now envy To be enhaunsed in honours. And Christen livers, with hir labours, For they leve on no man mortall, 450 +Ben do to dethe with dishonours; And all such falsë, foule hem fall! What knoweth a tillour at the plow The popes name, and what he hat? His crede suffyseth him y-now, 455 And knoweth a cardinall by his hat. Rough is the pore, unrightly lat, That knoweth Christ his god royall; Such maters be nat worth a gnat; But such false faytours, foule hem fall! 460 A king shall knele and kisse his sho; Christ suffred a sinfull kisse his feet. Me thinketh, he holdeth him hye y-now, So Lucifer did, that hye +seet. Such oon, me thinketh, him-self foryet, 465 Either to the trouth he was nat call; Christ, that suffred woundes wet, Shall makë such falshed foul fall! They layeth out hir largë nettes For to take silver and gold, 470 Fillen coffers, and sackes fettes, There-as they soules cacche shold. Hir servaunts be to +hem unhold, But they can doublin +hir rentall To bigge hem castels, and bigge hem hold; 475 And all such falsë, foule hem fall!