"Fools that fauten Inwit, I fynde that holy chirche Sholde fynden hem that hem fauted, And fader-lese children, And widewes that han noght wherwith To wynnen hem hir foode, Madde men, and maydenes That help-lese were, Alle thise lakken Inwit, 5300 And loore bihoveth. "Of this matere I myghte Make a long tale, And fynde fele witnesses Among the foure doctours; And that I lye noght of that I lere thee, Luc bereth witnesse. "God-fadres and god-modres, That seen hire god-children At mys-eise and at myschief, 5310 And mowe hem amende, Shul have penaunce in purgatorie But thei hem helpe. {164} For moore bilongeth to the litel barn, Er he the lawe knowe, Than nempnynge of a name, And he never the wiser. Sholde no cristene creature Cryen at the yate, Ne faille payn ne potage, 5320 And prelates dide as thei sholden. A Jew wolde noght se a Jew Go janglyng for defaute, For alle the mebles on this moolde, And he amende it myghte. "Alas! that a cristene creature Shal be unkynde til another; Syn Jewes, that we jugge Judas felawes, Eyther of hem helpeth oother 5330 Of that that hem nedeth. Whi nel we cristene Of Cristes good be as kynde As Jewes, that ben oure lores-men? Shame to us alle! The commune for hir unkyndenesse, I drede me, shul abye. "Bisshopes shul be blamed For beggeres sake. He is wors than Judas, 5340 That gyveth a japer silver, And biddeth the beggere go, For his broke clothes. _Proditor est prælatus cum Juda, qui patrimonium Christi mimis distribuit. Et alibi: Perniciosus dispensator est, qui res {165} pauperum Christi inutiliter consumit._ "He dooth noght wel that dooth thus, 5350 Ne drat noght God almyghty; He loveth noght Salomons sawes, That sapience taughte. _Initium sapientiæ, timor Domini._ "That dredeth God, he dooth wel; That dredeth him for love, And noght for drede of vengeaunce, Dooth therfore the bettre. "He dooth best that with-draweth hym By daye and by nyghte, 5360 To spille any speche Or any space of tyme. _Qui offendit in uno, in omnibus est reus._ = "Lesynge of tyme, Truthe woot the sothe, Is moost y-hated upon erthe Of hem that ben in hevene; And siththe to spille speche, That spicerie is of grace, 5370 And Goddes gle-man, And a game of hevene. Wolde nevere the feithful fader This fithele were un-tempred, Ne his gle-man a gedelyng, A goere to tavernes.