And all that they[1061] haue elles: Thus the people telles, Rayles lyke[1062] rebelles, Redys[1063] shrewdly and spelles, And with foundacyons[1064] melles, And talkys[1065] lyke tytyuelles, Howe ye brake the dedes[1066] wylles, Turne monasteris into[1067] water milles, 420 Of an abbay ye[1068] make a graunge; Your workes,[1069] they saye, are straunge; So that theyr founders soules Haue lost theyr beade rolles, The mony for theyr masses Spent[1070] amonge wanton lasses; The _Diriges_ are[1071] forgotten; Theyr founders lye there rotten, But where[1072] theyr soules dwell, Therwith I wyll not mell. 430 What coulde[1073] the Turke do more With all his false[1074] lore, Turke, Sarazyn,[1075] or Jew? I reporte me to you, O mercyfull Jesu, You supporte and rescue,[1076] My style for to dyrecte, It may take some effecte! For I abhorre to wryte Howe the lay fee dyspyte 440 You prelates, that of ryght Shulde be lanternes of lyght. Ye lyue, they say, in delyte, Drowned _in deliciis,_ _In gloria et divitiis,_ _In admirabili honore,[1077]_ _In gloria, et splendore_ _Fulgurantis hastæ,[1078]_ _Viventes parum caste_: Yet swete meate hath soure sauce, 450 For after _gloria,[1079] laus_, Chryst by cruelte Was nayled vpon[1080] a tre; He payed a bytter pencyon For mannes redemcyon, He dranke eysell and gall To redeme vs withall; But swete ypocras ye drynke, With, Let the cat wynke! Iche wot what eche[1081] other thynk; 460 Howe be it _per assimile_ Some men thynke that ye Shall haue penalte[1082] For your iniquyte. _Nota_[1083] what I say, And bere it well away; If it please not theologys,[1084] It is good for astrologys;[1085] For Ptholome tolde me The sonne somtyme to be 470 _In Ariete_, Ascendent a degre,[1086] Whan Scorpion descendynge, Was so then[1087] pretendynge A fatall fall of one[1088] That shuld[1089] syt on[1090] a trone, And rule all thynges[1091] alone. Your teth whet on this bone Amongest[1092] you euerychone, And let Collyn Cloute haue none[1093] 480 Maner of cause to mone: Lay salue to your owne sore, For els, as I sayd before, After _gloria_, _laus_, May come a soure sauce; Sory therfore am I, But trouth can neuer lye. With language thus poluted Holy Churche is bruted And shamfully confuted. 490 My penne nowe wyll I sharpe, And wrest vp my harpe With sharpe twynkyng trebelles, Agaynst all suche rebelles That laboure to confounde And bryng the Churche to the grounde; As ye may dayly se Howe the lay fee Of one affynyte