"I am Wrathe," quod he, "I was som tyme a frere, And the coventes gardyner For to graffen impes; On lymitours and listres Lesynges I ymped, Til thei beere leves of lowe speche, Lordes to plese, 2750 And sithen thei blosmede a-brood In boure to here shriftes; And now is fallen therof a fruyt, That folk han wel levere Shewen hire shriftes to hem, Than shryve hem to hir persons. "And now persons han perceyved That freres parte with hem, Thise possessioners preche And deprave freres. 2760 "And freres fyndeth hem in defaute, As folk bereth witnesse, That whan thei preche the peple In many places aboute, I Wrathe walke with hem, And wisse hem of my bokes. Thus thei speken of my spiritualté, That either despiseth oother, {86} Til thei be bothe beggers And by my spiritualté libben, 2770 Or ellis al riche And ryden aboute. I Wrathe reste nevere, That I ne moste folwe This wikked folk, For swich is my grace. "I have an aunte to nonne, And an abbesse bothe; Hir hadde levere swowe or swelte, Than suffre any peyne, 2780 "I have be cook in hir kichene, And the covent served Manye monthes with hem, And with monkes bothe. I was the prioresse potager, And othere povere ladies, And maad hem joutes of janglyng, That dame Johane was a bastard, And dame Clarice a knyghtes doughter, Ac a cokewold was hir sire; 2790 And dame Pernele a preestes fyle, Prioresse worth she nevere, For she hadde child in chirie-tyme, Al our chapitre it wiste. "Of wikkede wordes I Wrathe hire wortes made, Til 'thow lixt' and 'thow lixt' Lopen out at ones, And either hite oother Under the cheke; 2800 Hadde thei had knyves, by Crist Hir either hadde kild oother. {87} "Seint Gregory was a good pope, And hadde a good forwit, That no prioresse were preest, For that he ordeyned; They hadde thanne ben _infames_ the firste day, Thei kan so yvele hele conseil.