Wine, No. 2

Once (it was in days of yore) This our order flourished; Popes, whom Cardinals adore, It with honours nourished; Licences desirable They gave, nought desiring; While our prayers, the beads we tell, Served us for our hiring.

Now this order (so time runs) Is made tributary; With the ruck of Adam's sons We must draw and carry; Ground by common serfdom down, By our debts confounded, Debts to market-place and town With the Jews compounded.

Once ('twas when the simple state Of our order lasted) All men praised us, no man's hate Harried us or wasted; Rates and taxes on our crew There was none to levy; But the sect, douce men and true, Served God in a bevy.

Now some envious folks, who spy Sumptuous equipages, Horses, litters passing by, And a host of pages, Say, "Unless their purses were Quite with wealth o'erflowing, They could never thus, I swear, Round about be going!"

Such men do not think nor own How with toil we bend us, Not to feed ourselves alone, But the folk who tend us: On all comers, all who come, We our substance lavish, Therefore 'tis a trifling sum For ourselves we ravish.

On this subject, at this time, What we've said suffices: Let us leave it, lead the rhyme Back to our devices: We the miseries of this life Bear with cheerful spirit, That Heaven's bounty after strife We may duly merit.

'Tis a sign that God the Lord Will not let us perish, Since with scourge and rod and sword He our souls doth cherish; He amid this vale of woes Makes us bear the burden, That true joys in heaven's repose May be ours for guerdon.