Classic Poem

These knacks, my lord, I cannot call to mind;
Because they shew not in my glass of steel.
But holloa! here I see a wondrous sight,
I see a swarm of saints within my glass:
Behold, behold, I see a swarm indeed
Of holy saints which walk in comely wise,
Not decked in robes, nor garnished with gold,
But some unshod, yea some full thinly clothed,
And yet they seem so heavenly for to see
As if their eyes were all of diamonds,
Their face of rubies, sapphires, and jacinets,
Their comely beards and hair of silver wires
And to be short, they seem angelical.
What should they be, my lord, what should they be?

O gracious God, I see now what they be.
These be my priests which pray for every state,
These be my priests divorced from the world
And wedded yet to heaven and holiness,
Which are not proud, nor covet to be rich,
Which go not gay, nor feed on dainty food,
Which envy not nor know what malice means,
Which loath all lust, disdaining drunkenness,
Which cannot feign, which hate hypocrisy,
Which never saw Sir Simony's deceits,
Which preach of peace, which carp (chide) contentions,
Which loiter not but labour all the year,
Which thunder threats of God's most grievous wrath,
And yet do teach that mercy is in store.

Lo, these, my lord, be my good praying priests,
Descended from Melchisedec by line,
Cousins to Paul, to Peter, James and John,
These be my priests, the seasoning of the earth,
Which will not lease their savouriness I trow.
Not one of these, for twenty hundred groats,
Will teach the text that bids him take a wife,
And yet be cumbered with a concubine;
Not one of these will read the holy writ
Which doth forbid all greedy usury,
And yet receive a shilling for a pound;
Not one of these will preach of patience,
And yet be found as angry as a wasp;
Not one of these can be content to sit
In taverns, inns, or alehouses all day,
But spends his time devoutly at his books;
Not one of these will rail at rulers' wrongs,
And yet be bloated with extortion;
Not one of these will paint out worldly pride,
And be himself as gallant as he dare;
Not one of these rebuketh avarice,
And yet procureth proud pluralities;
Not one of these reproveth vanity,
Whiles he himself, with hawk upon his fist
And hounds at heel, doth quite forget his text;
Not one of these corrects contentions
For trifling things, and yet will sue for tithes;
Not one of these, not one of these, my lord,
Will be ashamed to do even as he teacheth.
My priests have learned to pray unto the Lord,
And yet they trust not in their lip-labour.
My priests can fast and use all abstinence
From vice and sin, and yet refuse no meats.
My priests can give in charitable wise
And love also to do good almes deeds,
Although they trust not in their own deserts.
My priests can place all penance in the heart,
Without regard of outward ceremonies.
My priests can keep their temples undefiled
And yet defy all superstition.

Lo now, my lord, what think you by my priests?
Although they were the last that shewed themselves,
I said at first their office was to pray,
And since the time is such even now-a-days
As hath great need of prayers truly prayed,
Come forth, my priests, and I will bid your beads:
I will presume, although I be no priest,
To bid you pray as Paul and Peter prayed.
Then pray, my priests, yea pray to God himself
That he vouchsafe, even for his Christes sake
To give his word free passage here on earth,
And that his church (which is now militant)
May soon be seen triumphant over all,
And that he deign to end this wicked world,
Which walloweth still in sinks of filthy sin.