"Ac ancres and heremites That eten noght but at nones, And na-moore er the morwe, Myn almesse shul thei have, {126} And of catel to kepe hem with, 4090 That han cloistres and chirches. "Ac Robert Renaboute Shal noght have of myne, Ne postles, but thei preche konne And have power of the bisshope; Thei shul have payn and potage, And make hemself at ese, For it is an unreasonable religion That hath right noght of certein." And thanne gan Wastour to wrathen hym, 4100 And wolde have y-foughte; And to Piers the Plowman He profrede his glove; A bretoner, a braggere, A-bosted Piers als, And bad hym go pissen with his plowgh, "For-pynede sherewe! Wiltow or neltow, We wol have oure wille Of thi flour and of thi flesshe, 4110 Fecche whanne us liketh; And maken us murye thermyde, Maugree thi chekes." Thanne Piers the Plowman Pleyned hym to the knyghte, To kepen hym as covenaunt was Fro cursede sherewes, And fro thise wastours wolves-kynnes That maketh the world deere; "For tho wasten and wynnen noght, 4120 And that ilke while Worth nevere plentee among the peple, {127} The while my plowgh liggeth." Curteisly the knyght thanne, As his kynde wolde, Warnede Wastour, And wissed hym bettre, "Or thow shalt abigge by the lawe, By the ordre that I bere!" "I was noght wont to werche," quod Wastour, 4130 "And now wol I noght bigynne;" And leet light of the lawe, And lasse of the knyghte; And sette Piers at a pese, And his plowgh bothe; And manaced Piers and his men, If thei mette eft soone. "Now, by the peril of my soule!" quod Piers, "I shal apeire yow alle;" And houped after Hunger, 4140 That herde hym at the firste, "A-wreke me of thise wastours," quod he, "That this world shendeth." Hunger in haste thoo Hente Wastour by the wombe, And wrong him so by the wombe, That bothe hise eighen watrede. He buffeted the bretoner Aboute the chekes, That he loked lik a lanterne 4150 Al his lif after. He bette hem so bothe, He brast ner hire guttes; Ne hadde Piers with a pese loof {128} Preyed Hunger to cesse, They hadde be dolven, Ne deme thow noon oother. "Suffre hem lyve," he seide, "And lat hem ete with hogges, Or ellis benes or bren 4160 Y-baken togideres, Or ellis melk and mene ale;" Thus preied Piers for hem. Faitours for fere herof Flowen into bernes, And flapten on with flailes Fro morwe til even; That Hunger was noght so hardy On hem for to loke, For a potful of peses 4170 That Piers hadde y-maked.