"Of the kynrede of Caym He cast the freres, And founded hem on Sarysenes, Feyned for God. 970 But they with her falshe faith Mychel folk shendeth. Christ calde hem hymself Kynd ipocrites; How often he cursed hem, Wel can I tellen. {480} He seide ons hymself To that sory puple: 'Who worthe you, wyghtes, Wel lerned of the lawe!' 980 Eft he seyde to hem selfe, 'Wo mote you worthen That the toumbes of profetes Bildeth up heighe! Your faderes for-deden hem, And to the deth hem broughte.' Here I touche this two, Twynnen hem I thenke. Who wilneth be wiser of lawe Than lewede freres, 990 And in multitude of men But maistres y-called, And wilneth worship of the werld, And sytten with heye, And leveth lovyng of God And lownesse byhynde, And in beldyng of toumbes Thei traveileth grete, To chargen her chirche flore, And chaungen it ofte. 1000 And the fader of the freres Defouled her soules, That was the dyggyng devel, That dreccheth men ofte. The devel by his dotage Dissaveth the chirche, And put in the Prechours, Y-paynted withouten, And by his queyntise they comen in The curates to helpen; 1010 {481} But that harmed hem harde, And halp hem ful littel. But Austynes ordinaunce Was on a good treuthe; And also Dominikes dedes Weren dernelich y-used; And Fraunceis founded his folke Fulliche on treuthe, Pure parfit prestes In penaunce to libben, 1020 In love and in lownesse And lettynge of pryde, Grounded on the Godspel, As God baad hymselve. But now the glose is so greet In gladdyng tales, That turneth up two-fold Un-teyned upon treuthe, That they ben cursed of Christ, I can hem wel prove 1030 Withouten his blissyng, Bare beth thei in her werkes. For Christ seyde hymselfe To swiche as him folwede: 'Y-blissed mot they ben That mene ben in soule;' And alle power in gost God hymself blisseth. Whou fele freres fareth so, Fayne wolde I knowe, 1040 Prove hem in proces, And pynch at her ordre, And deme hem after that the don, And dredles, Y leve, {482} Thei wiln wexon pure wroth Wonderliche sone, And shewen the a sharp wil In a short tyme To wiln wilfully wrathe, And werche therafter. 1050 Wytnes on Wyclif, That warned hem with trewthe. For he in goodnesse of gost Graythliche hem warned To wayven her wikednesse And werkes of synne. Whou sone this sorimen Seweden hys soule, And overal lolled hym With heritikes werkes! 1060 And so of the blissyng of God Thei bereth little mede.