Of armes and of brigantaille

Stood no thing than upon bataille
To fight or for to make cheste

It thought hem thanne nought honeste.
But of fimplefce and pacience
They maden thanne no defence.
The courte of worldly regalie
To hem was thanne no bailie.
The vein honour was nought defired,
Which hath the proude herte fired.
Humilite was tho witholde

To

And pride was a vice holde.
Of holy chirche the largesse
Yaf thanne and did great almesse
pouer men that hadden nede.
They were eke chaft in word and dede,
Wherof the people enfample toke.
Their luft was al upon the boke
Or for to preche or for to preie
To wiffe men the righte weie
Of fuch as ftode of trouth unlered.
Lo, thus was Peters barge stered
Of hem that thilke time were.
And thus came first to mannes ere
The feith of Crifte and alle good
Through hem, that thanne weren good
And fobre and chafte and large and wife.
And now men fain is other wife.
Simon the cause hath undertake,

The worldes fwerde on hond is take,

And that is wonder netheles,

Whan Crifte him felf hath bode pees
And fet it in his teftament.

How now that holy chirche is went
Of that here lawe pofitife

Hath fet to make werre and strife

For worldes good, which may nought last.
God wote the cause to the last
Of every right and wronge alfo.
But while the lawe is reuled fo
That clerkes to the werre entende,
I not how that they sholde amende
The woful worlde in other thinges
To make pees betwen the kinges
After the lawe of charite,

Which is the propre duete

Belongend unto the presthode.

But as it thenketh to make manhode,
The heven is fer, the worlde is nigh,
And veingloire is eke to fligh,
Which covetife hath now witholde,
That they none other thing beholde,
But only that they mighten winne.
And thus the werres they beginne,
Wherof the holy chirche is taxed,
That in the point as it is axed
The disme goth to the bataile,
As though Crift mighte nought availe
To don hem right by other weie.
Into the fwerd the chirche keie

Is torned, and the holy bede
Into curfinge, and every ftede
Whiche fholde ftonde upon the feith
And to this cause an ere leith
Aftoned is of the quarele.

That fholde be the worldes hele
Is now men sain the peftilence,
Which hath exiled pacience
Fro the clergie in speciall.
And that is fhewed overall,
In any thing whan they be greved.
But if Gregoire be beleved

As it is in the bokes write,

He dothe us fomdele for to wite
The cause of thilke prelacie,
Where god is nought of compaignie.
For every werke as it is founded
Shall ftonde, or elles be confounded.
Who that only for Criftes fake
Defireth cure for to take

And nought for pride of thilke estate
To beare a name of a prelate,
He shal by refon do profite
In holy chirche upon the plite,

That he hath fet his conscience
But in the worldes reverence.
Ther ben of fuche many glade,
Whan they to thilke estate ben made
Nought for the merite of the charge,
But for they wolde hem felf discharge

a

Of pouerte and become grete,
And thus for pompe and for beyete
The scribe and eke the pharifee
Of Moifes upon the fee

In the chaire on high ben fet,
Wherof the feith is ofte let,
Whiche is betaken hem to kepe.
In Criftes cause all day they flepe,
But of the worlde is nought foryete.
For wel is him, that now may gete
Office in court to be honoured.
The stronge cofre hath al devoured
Under the keie of avarice

The trefor of the benefice,

Wherof the pouer fhulden clothe
And ete and drinke and house bothe.
The charite goth all unknowe,

For they no greine of pite fowe,

And flouthe kepeth the librarie,
Which longeth to the seintuarie.
To studie upon the worldes lore
Sufficeth now withoute more.
Delicacie his fwete tothe
Hath foffred fo that it fordothe
Of abftinence al that ther is.
And for to loken over this,
If Ethna brenne in the clergie,
Al openly to mannes eye
At Avinon thexperience
Therof hath yove an evidence

Of that men feen hem fo devided.

And yet the cause is nought decided,
But it is faide and ever shall :

Bitwen two stoles is the fall,

Whan that men wenen best to fitte.
In holy chirche of fuche a flitte

Is for to rewe unto us alle.

God graunte

it mote wel befalle

Towardes him, which hath the trouth.

But ofte is feen, that mochel flouth,
Whan men ben drunken of the

cuppe, Doth mochel harme, whan fire is uppe, But if fomwho the flamme staunche

And so to speke upon this braunche,
Which proud envie hath made to springe
Of fcifme, caufeth for to bringe
This newe fece of lollardie
And also many an herefie
Among the clerkes in hem felve.
It were better dike and delve
And stonde upon the right feith
Than knowe al that the bible faith
And erre as fome clerkes do.
Upon the hond to were a sho
And fet upon the foot a glove
Accordeth nought to the behove
Of refonable mannes use.
If men behelden the vertuse,

That Crifte in erthe taught here,
They fhulden nought in fuch manere