Ac whiche be the braunches

Ac whiche be the braunches That bryngeth me to sleuthe, Ys wanne a man mourneth nat For hus mysdedes; The penaunce that the prest enjoyneth Parfourmeth uvele; Doth non almys-dedes, And drat nat of synne: Lyveth ayens the byleyve, And no lawe kepeth; And hath no lykynge to lerne, Ne of houre Lord hure, Bote harlotrie other horedom, Other elles of som wynnyng. Wan men carpen of Crist Other of clennesse of soule, He wext wroth, and wol not huyre Bote wordes of murthe, Penaunce and povre men, The passion of seyntes, He hateth to huyre therof And alle that therof carpen. Thuse beth the braunches, be war, That bryngeth man to wanhope. Ye lordes and ladyes, And legates of holy churche, That feden fool sages, Flaterers and lyers, And han lykynge to lythen hem, In hope to do yow lawe— Væ! vobis qui ridetis, etc. And geveth suche mede an mete, And povre men refusen; In youre deth deynge, Ich drede me sore Lest tho maner men To moche sorwe yow brynge. Consensientes et agentes pari pæna punientur. Patriarkes and prophetes, Prechours of Godes wordes, Saven thorgh here sermons Mannes soule fro helle: Ryght so flaterers and foles Aren the fendes procuratores, Entysen men thorgh here tales To synne and to harlotrie. Clerkus that knowen this, Sholde kennen lordes What David seide of suche men, As the Sauter telleth: Non habitabit in medio domus meæ qui facit superbiam, qui loquitur iniquum. Sholde non harlot have audience In halle ne in chaumbre, Ther that wys men were. Whitnesse of Godes wordes; Nother a mys-prout man Among lordes alouwed. Clerkus and knyghtes Wolcometh kynges mynstrales, For love of here lordes Lithen hem at festes: Muche more, me thenketh, Riche men auhte Have beggers byfore hem, Wiche beth Godes mynstreles, As he seith hymself, Seynt Johan berith whittnesse: Qui vos spernit, me etiam spernit. Therfor ich rede yow, riche, Reveles when ye maken, For to solace youre soules, Suche mynstrales to have, The povre for a foul sage Syttynge at thy table, Whith a lered man to lere the What oure Lord suffrede, For to savy thy saule Fram Satan thyn enemye, And fitayle the withoute flateryng Of Good Friday the feste: And a blynde man for a bordiour, Other a bed-reden womman To crye a largesse byfor oure Lord, Youre good loos to shewe. Thuse thre manere mynstrales Maken a man to lauhe; In hus deth deyng Thei don hym gret comfort, That by hus lyfe loveth hem, And loveth hem to huyre. Thuse solaceth the soule, Til hymself be falle In a wele good hope, for he wroghte so, Among worthy seyntes, Ther flaterers and foles Whith here foule wordes Leden tho that lithen hem To Luciferes feste, With Turpiloquio, a lay of sorwe, And Lucifers fitele, To perpetual peyne Other purgatorye as wykke, For he litheth and loveth That Godes lawe despiteth. Qui histrionibus dat, dæmonibus sacrificat.

3466. qui manet, &c. Epist. Joan. iv, 16.

3477. Epist. Paul, ad Ephes. iv, 8.

3484. Isai. ix, 2.

3496. Matt. ix, 13.

3502. John i, 14.

3520. Psalm xxxv, 8.