"Afterward another, Onliche he blissede The meke of the myddel-erde Through myght of his fader. Fynd foure freres in a flok That folweth that rewle, Than have I tynt al my tast, Touche and assaye. 1070 Lakke hem a littel wight, And her liif blamen; But he lepe up on heigh In hardenesse of herte, And nemne the anon nought, And thy name lakke, With proude wordes apert That passeth his rewle, {483} Bothe with 'thou leyst,' and 'thou lext,' In heynesse of soule, 1080 And turnnen as a tyraunt That turmenteth hymselve. A lord were lother For to leyne a knave, Thanne swich a begger, The best in a toun. Loke now, leve man, Beth nought thise y-lyke Fully to the Pharisens, In fele of these poyntes. 1090 Al her brad beldyng Ben belded with synne, And in worshipe of the world Here wynnyng they holden; They shapen her chapolories, And strecchet hem brode, And launceth heighe her hemmes With babelyng in stretes. They ben y-sewed with whight silke, And semes ful queynte, 1100 Y-stongen with stiches That stareth as sylver. And but freres ben fyrst y-set At sopers and at festes, They wiln ben wonderly wroth Y-wis, as I trowe; But they ben at the lordes borde, Louren they willeth. He mot bygynne that bord, A beggere with sorowe; 1110 And first sitten in se In her synagoges, {484} That beth her heigh helle hous, Of Caymes kynd. For though a man in her mynstre A masse wolde heren, His sight shal so by set On sondrye werkes, The penonnes and the pomels And poyntes of sheldes 1120 Withdrawen his devocion, And dusken his herte. I likene it to a lim-yerde To drawen men to helle, And to worchipe of the fend, To wraththen the soules. And also Christ himself seide To swich ypocrites, He loveth in marketes ben met With gretynges of povere, 1130 And lowynge of lewed men In Lentenes tyme; For thei han of bichopes y-bought With her propre silver And purchased of penaunce The puple to asoyle. But money may maken Mesure of the peyne; After that his power is to payen, His penaunce shal fayle. 1140 God leve it be a good help For hele of the soules! And also this myster men Ben maysters i-called, That the gentill Jesus Generalliche blamed, {485} And that poynt to his apostles Purly defended. But freres haven forgeten this, And the fend suweth, 1150 He that maystri loved, Lucifer the olde. Where Fraunceys or Dominik, Other Austyn ordeynde, And of this dotardes Doctur to worthe, Maysters of divinité Her matynes to leve, And cherlich as a cheveteyn