Classic Poem

Git spekith Jak Uplande.
To make with the a dialogge,
I holde it bot wast,
for thou maryst thy lesynges lowde
with thy false heresyes;
men may se by thy writing,
here, thou jangelyng jay,
how thou bylevest not in the sacrid cozte,
for we sey alle,
the sacrid oste that is sene with eye
is verey Cristes body;
but thy secte seyth not soo,
but ge say ther is Cristes body,
ge tel not where.
But Crist seyth, this is my body,
and not, ther is my body.
Whi, ge templers messe sellers,
grante ge not Cristes wordes,
syth ge chafyr thus therwith,
bygylyng the pupil?
Lete goure secte write goure byleve
of this sacrid oste,
and preche it as ge write it,
and sette therto goure sele,
and I am siker of my feith
ge schul be stonde to deth;
and than schal goure castels
cache hem new maysters,
for ge wil not grante,
ne bot few of goure ordirs,
the ost sacrid, white and rounde,
is verey Cristis body.
I pray oure Lord Jhesu,
that sone be it sene,
who is in the trew wey,
whether ge other we.
But towching men of crafte,
whom thou dispisyst,
al they schulde medle hem
to know her byleve,
but as wele of her sacryng,
as wymmen syngynge messe,
alwey thou usest the craft
of thyn old fader.
Why darst not thou of summe
of gou false heretykis,
fynde owte such on,
and preve goure lesynges sothe.
And therfor, Daw, I sey nomore
to the at this tyme,
but thou ert on of the falsest
that ever I saw write.
For Mahomete and Serginus,
and al her grete lawe,
wot not so many lesynges
as ben here in thy writynges.