Ac eremites that enhabiten hem

Ac eremites that enhabiten hem By the heye weyes, And in borwes among brewesters, And beggen in churches Al that holy eremytes Hateden and despisede, As rychesses and reverences And ryche mennes almesse. These lolleres, latche-draweres, Lewede eremytes, Coveyten the contrarie, As cotyers thei lybben, For hit beth bote boyes, Lolleres atten ale, Of linguage of lettrure Ne lyf-holy as eremytes That wonnede wyle in wodes With beres and lyones. Some had lyflode of here lynage, And of no lyf elles; And some lyvede by here lettrure And labour of here hondes; Some had foreynes to frendes, That hem fode sente; And bryddes brouhten to some bred, Werby thei lyveden. Alle thuse holy eremytes Were of hye kynne, Forsoke londe and lordshep And lykynges of the body; Ac thuse eremytes, that edefyen Thus by the hye weyes, Wylen were workmen, Webbes and taillours, And carters knaves And clerkus without grace, Heelden hungry hous, And had much defaute, Long labour and lyte wynnynge, And atte laste aspiden That faitours in frere clothynge Had fatte chekus; For-thi lefte thei here laboure, Theese lewede knaves, And clothed hem in copes, Clerkus as hit were. Other on of som ordre, Othere elles prophite, Ayens the lawe he lyveth, Yf Latyn be trywe: Non licet nobis legem voluntate, sed voluntatem conjungere legi. Now kyndeliche, by Crist! Beth suche callyd lolleres, As by Englisch of oure eldres, Of olde menne techynge, He that lolleth his lame, Other his leg out of the joynte, Other meymed in som membre, For to meschief hit souneth; And ryght so sothlyche Suche manere eremytes Lollen ayen the bylyeve And lawe of holy churche. For holy churche hoteth Alle manere puple Under obedience to bee, And buxum to the lawe, Furst religious of religion Here ruele to holde, And under obedience to be By dayes and by nyghtes, Lewede men to laborie, Lordes to honte In frythes and in forestes For fox and other bestes That in wilde wodes ben, And in wast places, As wolves that wyrhyeth men, Wommen, and children, And upon Sonedayes to cesse, Godes service to huyre, Bothe matyns and messe, And after mete in churches To huyre here eve song Every man ouhte. Thus it bylongeth for lorde, For lered and lewede, Eche halyday to huyre Hollyche the service, Vigiles and fastyng dayes Forthere to knowe, And fulfille tho fastynges Bote infirmité hit made, Poverte othere penaunces, As pilgrymages and travayles. Under this obedience Arn we echone. Who so brekyeth this, be wel war, Bot yf he repente, Amenden hym and mercy aske, And meekliche hym shryve, Ich drede me, and he deye, Hit worth for dedlich synne Acounted byfore Crist, Bote Conscience excuse hym. Loke now were theese lolleres And lewede eremytes, Yf thei breke thys obedience That ben so fro churche, Wher see we hem on Sonedays The servise to huyre? As matyns by the morwe Tyl masse bygynne, Other Sonedays at eve songe, See we wol fewe; Othere labory for our lyflode As the lawe wolde Ac at mydday meel tyme Ich mete with hem ofte, Conynge in a cope As he a clerke were, A bachelor other a beaupere Best hym bysemeth, And for the cloth that kevereth hem Cald his here a frere, Whassheth and wypeth, And with the furste suteth. Ac while he wrought in thys worlde, And wan hus mete with Treuthe, He sat atte syd benche And secounde table, Com no wyn in hus wombe Thorw the weke longe, Nother blankett in hus bed, Ne white bred byfore hym. The cause of al thys caitifté Cometh of meny bisshepes, That suffren suche sottes And othere synnes regne. Certes ho so thurste hit segge, Symon quasi dormit. Vigilate were fairour, For thow hast gret charge: For meny waker wolves Ben broke into foldes. Thyne berkeres ben al blynde, That bryngeth forth thy lambren; Disperguntur oves, thi dogge Dar nat beerke. The tarre is untydy That to thyne sheep bylongeth; Hure salve ys of supersedeas In someneres boxes, Thyne sheep are ner al shabbyd, The wolf sheteth woolle. Sub molli pastore lupus lanam cacat, et grex incustoditus dilaceratur eo. Hoow hurde wher is thyn hounde, And thyn hardy herte, For to wyne the wolf That thy woolle fouleth. Ich leyve for thy lacchesse Thow leest meny wederes, And ful meny fayre flus Falsliche wasshe. When thy lord loketh to have Alowance for hus bestes, And of the monye thow haddist thermyd, Hus meable to save, And the woolle worth weye, Woo ys the thenne! Redde rationem villicationis tuæ, Other arerage, ffalle. Then hyre hurde, as ich hope, Hath nouht to quyty thy dette, Ther as mede ne mercy May nat a myte avayle, Bote have this for that, Tho that thow toke Mercy for mede, And my lawe breke; Loke now for thi lacchesse Whether lawe wol the graunt Purgatorie for thy paye, Other perpetuel helle. For shal no pardone praye for yowe ther, Nother princes letteres.