Classic Poem

That we ben not lege men,
Jak, lowde thou lyest;
ffor lenger than we lyven so,
abide we not in londe,
the sotil witt of wyse men
shulde temte us wel soone,
and fleme us from felowshipe,
and done us of dawe.
We obeien to bishopes,
as boxomnesse askith,
althougg not so fer forth
as seculer preestes;
ffor holy chirche hath us hent
and happid with grace,
to were us from wederes
of wynteres stormes,
wede corn ne gras
have we not to hewen,
ne with Jakke Uplond
ferme the dikes;
althoug Poul in his pistele
laborers preise,
displesith him not the preestes
that syngen her masses.
For rigt as in thi bodi, Jake
ben ordeyned thin hondis,
ffor thin heed and for thi feet
and for thin eyen to wirken,
rigt so the comoun peple
God hath disposid,
to laboren for holi chirche
and lordshipis alos.
A! for-writhen serpent,
thi wyles ben aspied,
with a thousand wrynkels
thou vexed many soules;
thi malice is so michel,
thou maist not for-hele,
but thi venym with vehemens
thou spittist al at ones.
Thou seist we ben confounders
of prelates and of lordes;
but, Jakke, bi my lewté,
lowde thou lyest;
ffor telle me, bi oure counseile
what lord hath ben confoundid?
or what prelat of ony pepil
put in ony peril?
But sith that wickide worme,
Wiclyf be his name,
began to sowe the seed
of cisme in the erthe,
sorowe and shendship
hath awaked wyde,
in lordship and prelacie
hath growe the lasse grace.
Jak, thou seist with symonye
the seven sacramentes we sellen,
and preien for no men
but gif thei willen paien.
God wote, Jakke, thou sparist
here the sothe,
and, er we departen us asoundre,
it shal wel be shewid.
But oon is the sacrament
that we han to dispensen
off penaunce to the peple
whan nede askith.
I trowe it be thi paroche preest,
Jacke, that thou meenest,
that nyl not hosel his parischens
til the peny be paied,
ne assoilen hem of her synne
withouten schrift silver.
Jakke, of thi foli
thou feynest fife erores,
and git ben ther but foure
foundid in the lawe,
ffalsly as thou seist
and soone shal be distroied.
Jakke, thi lewid prophecie
I preise not at a peese.
Somme fantasie of Fiton
hath marrid thi mynde;
thou prophete of Baal,
thi God is aslepe;
the goodnesse of the grost
may not ligten upon thee.
Whi presumyst thou so proudli
to prophecie these thingis?
and wost no more what thou blaberest
than Balames asse.
Thou mayntenist in thi mater
that matrimony thus we marre;
but this arowe shal turne agen
to him that it sent,
ffor thou and thi secte,
sothli ge schenden,
in as moche as ge may,
the sacramentis seven,
and reles of synne
and grauntyng of grace,
and Cristis bitter passioun
ge sette not at an hawe.
Who marrith more matrimonie,
ge or the freris,
with wrenchis and wiles
wynnen mennes wyves,
and maken hem scolers
of the newe scole,
and reden hem her forme
in the lowe chaier?
To maken hem profit in gour lawe
thei rede gour rounde rollis,
and callen hem forth her lessouns
with, “Sister, me nedith.”
Jak, thou seist that we bilden
the castels of Caym.
It is Goodis hous, oold schrewe,
that we ben aboute,
to mayntenen his servauntis
to singe and to reden,
and bidden for the peple,
as we ben beholden.
Clerkis sein that Salomon
made a solempne temple,
and git was it bot figure
of oure newe chirche,
that ech holi hous that Crist
him silf in dwellith.
Jak, thou seist ful serpentli,
and sowdiours us thou callist,
sette for oure sutilté
in Anticristis vaunwarde.
Crist in the gospel
rehersith a rewle,
how ech man shal be knowun
oonli bi his werkes;
and if we were founden
on Anticristis side,
oure werkes shulden shewen,
Jakke, ful soone.
The werkes of Anticrist
pursuen oure bileve,
so do the disciplis
of gour sori secte,
shending the sacramentes,
salve to oure soris.
Who tytheth bot ge
the anet and the mente,
sterching gour faces,
to be holden holi,
blaunchid graves
ful of dede bones,
wanderynge weder-cokkes,
with every wynd waginge;
the spiritis of the devel
mateyn goure tokenys,
thourg quenching of torches in gou tayl-ende.