O cursed priestes, that prate for profit’s sake, And follow floud and tyde where ere it floes: O marchaunts fine that no aduauntage take Of euery grayne, how euer market goes: O fie on wolues that march in masking cloes, For to deuoure the lambs when shepperd sleepes, And woe to you that promise neuer keepes. 51. You sayd I should be reskude if I neede, And you would curse, with candell, booke, and bell: But when yee should now serue my turne indeede, Yee haue no house I know not where yee dwell: O freers and monkes your harbour is in hell, For in this world yee haue no rightfull place, Nor dare not once in heauen shew your face. 52. Your fault not halfe so great as was my pryde, For which offence fell Lucifer from skyes: Although I would that wilfull folly hyde, The thing lyes playne before the people’s eyes, On which hye heart a hatefull name doth ryes: It hath beene sayde of olde, and dayly will, Pryde goes before, and shame coms after still. 53. Pryde is a thing that God and man abores, A swelling tode, that poysons euery place, A stinking wounde, that breedeth many sores, A priuy plague, found out in stately face, A paynted byrd that keepes a pecock’s pace, A lothsome lowt that lookes like tinker’s dog, A hellish hownd, a swinish hatefull hog 54. That grunts and groanes at euery thing it sees, And holds vp snowt like pig that coms from draffe: Why should I make of pride all these degrees, That first tooke roote from filthy drosse and chaffe, And makes men stay vpon a broken staffe: No weaknes more than thinke to stand vpright, When stumbling blocke makes men to fall downright. 55. Hee needes must fall that looks not where he goes, And on the starrs walkes staring goezling like: On sodayne oft a blostring tempest bloes, Than downe great trees are tumbled in the dike: Who knowes the time and howre when God will strike: Then looke about, and marke what steps yee take, Before you pace, the pilgrimage yee make. 56. Run not on head as all the worlde were youres, Nor thrust them backe that cannot bide a shocke: Who striues for place his owne decay procures: Who alway brawles is sure to catch a knocke: Who beardes a king, his head is neere the blocke: But who doth stand in feare and worldly dreede, Ere mischiefe coms had neede to take good heede. 57.