Quis consurget mecum adversus malignantes ?
aut quis stabit mecum adversus operantes iniqui-
tatem ? Nemo, Domine !

W H A T can it auayle
To dryue forth a snayle,
Or to make a sayle
Of an herynges tayle ;
To ryme or to rayle,
To wryte or to indyte,
Eyther for delyte
Or elles for despyte ;
Or bokes to compyle
Of dyuers maner style, 10
Vyce to reuyle
And synne to exyle ;
To teche or to preche,
As reason wyll reche ?
Say this, and say that,
His hed is so fat,
He wotteth neuer what
Nor wherof he speketh ;
He cryeth and he creketh,
He pryeth and he peketh, 20
He chydes and he chatters,
He prates and he patters,
He clytters and he clatters,
He medles and he smatters,
He gloses and he flatters ;
Or yf he speake playne,
Than he lacketh brayne,
He is but a fole ;
Let hym go to scole,
On a thre foted stole 30
That he may downe syt,
For he lacketh wyt ;
And yf that he hyt
The nayle on the hede,
It standeth in no stede ;
The deuyll, they say, is dede,
The deuell is dede.
It may well so be,
Or els they wolde se
Otherwyse, and fle 40
From worldly vanyte,
And foule couetousnesse,
And other wretchednesse,
Fyckell falsenesse,
Varyablenesse,
With vnstablenesse.
And if ye stande in doubte
Who brought this ryme aboute,
My name is Colyn Cloute.
I purpose to shake oute 50
All my connyng bagge,
Lyke a clerkely hagge ;
For though my ryme be ragged,
Tattered and iagged,
Rudely rayne beaten,
Rusty and moughte eaten,
If ye take well therwith,
It hath in it some pyth.
For, as farre as I can se,
It is wronge with eche degre : 60
For the temporalte
Accuseth the spiritualte ;
The spirituall agayne
Dothe grudge and complayne
Vpon the temporall men :
Thus eche of other blother
The tone agayng the tother :
Alas, they make me shoder !
For in hoder moder
The Churche is put in faute ; 70
The prelates ben so haut,
They say, and loke so hy,
As though they wolde fly
Aboue the sterry skye.
Laye men say indede
How they take no hede
Theyr sely shepe to fede,
But plucke away and pull
The fleces of theyr wull,
Vnethes they leue a locke 80
Of wull amonges theyr flocke ;
And as for theyr connynge,
A glommynge and a mummynge,
And make therof a iape ;
They gaspe and they gape
All to haue promocyon,
There is theyr deuocyon,
With money, if it wyll hap,
To catche the forked cap :
Forsothe they are so lewd 90
To say so, all beshrewd !
What trow ye they say more
Of the bysshoppes lore ?
How in matters they be rawe,
They lumber forth the lawe,
To herken Jacke and Gyll,
Whan they put vp a byll,
And iudge it as they wyll,
For other mennes skyll,
Expoundyng out theyr clauses, 100
And leue theyr owne causes :
In theyr prouynciall cure
They make but lytell sure,
And meddels very lyght
In the Churches ryght ;
But ire and venire,
And solfa so alamyre,
That the premenyre
Is lyke to be set a fyre
In theyr iurisdictions 110
Through temporall afflictions :
Men say they haue prescriptions
Agaynst spirituall contradictions,
Accomptynge them as fyctions.
And whyles the heedes do this,
The remenaunt is amys
Of the clergy all,
Bothe great and small.
I wot neuer how they warke,
But thus the people barke ;# 120
And surely thus they say,
Bysshoppes, if they may,
Small houses wolde kepe,
But slumbre forth and slepe,
And assay to crepe
Within the noble walles
Of the kynges halles,
To fat theyr bodyes full,
Theyr soules lene and dull,
And haue full lytell care 130
How euyll theyr shepe fare.
The temporalyte say playne,
How bysshoppes dysdayne
Sermons for to make,
Or suche laboure to take ;
And for to say trouth,
A great parte is for slouth,
But the greattest parte
Is for they haue but small arte
And ryght sklender connyng 140
Within theyr heedes wonnyng.
But this reason they take
How they are able to make
With theyr golde and treasure
Clerkes out of measure,
And yet that is a pleasure.
How be it some there be,
Almost two or thre,
Of that dygnyte,
Full worshypfull clerkes, 150
As appereth by theyr werkes,
Lyke Aaron and Ure,
The wolfe from the dore
To werryn and to kepe
From theyr goostly shepe,
And theyr spirituall lammes
Sequestred from rammes
And from the berded gotes
With theyr heery cotes ;
Set nought by golde ne grotes, 160
Theyr names if I durst tell.
But they are loth to mell,
And loth to hang the bell
Aboute the cattes necke,
For drede to haue a checke ;
They ar fayne to play deuz decke,
They ar made for the becke.
How be it they are good men,
Moche herted lyke an hen :
Theyr lessons forgotten they haue 170
That Becket them gaue :
Thomas manum mittit ad fortia,
Spernit damna, spernit opprobria,
Nulla Thomam frangit injuria.
But nowe euery spirituall father,
Men say, they had rather
Spende moche of theyr share
Than to be combred with care :
Spende ! nay, nay, but spare ;
For let se who that dare 180
Sho the mockysshe mare ;
They make her wynche and keke,
But it is not worth a leke :
Boldnesse is to seke
The Churche for to defend.
Take me as I intende,
For lothe I am to offende
In this that I haue pende :
I tell you as men say ;
Amende whan ye may, 190
For, usque ad montem Sare,#
Men say ye can not appare ;
For some say ye hunte in parkes,
And hauke on hobby larkes,
And other wanton warkes,
Whan the nyght darkes.
What hath lay men to do
The gray gose for to sho ?
Lyke houndes of hell,
They crye and they yell, 200
Howe that ye sell
The grace of the Holy Gost :
Thus they make theyr bost
Through owte euery cost,
Howe some of you do eate
In Lenton season fleshe mete,
Fesauntes, partryche, and cranes ;
Men call you therfore prophanes ;
Ye pycke no shrympes nor pranes,
Saltfysshe, stocfysshe, nor heryng, 210
It is not for your werynge ;
Nor in holy Lenton season
Ye wyll netheyr benes ne peason,
But ye loke to be let lose
To a pygge or to a gose,
Your gorge not endewed
Without a capon stewed,
Or a stewed cocke,
To knowe whate ys a clocke
Vnder her surfled smocke, 220
And her wanton wodicocke.
And how whan ye gyue orders
In your prouinciall borders,
As at Sitientes,
Some are insufficientes,
Some parum sapientes
Some nihil intelligentes,
Some valde negligentes,
Some nullum sensum habentes,
But bestiall and vntaught ; 230
But whan thei haue ones caught
Dominus vobiscum by the hede,
Than renne they in euery stede,
God wot, with dronken nolles ;
Yet take they cure of soules,
And woteth neuer what thei rede,
Paternoster, Ave, nor Crede ;
Construe not worth a whystle
Nether Gospell nor Pystle ;
Theyr mattyns madly sayde, 240
Nothynge deuoutly prayde ;
Theyr lernynge is so small,
Theyr prymes and houres fall
And lepe out of theyr lyppes
Lyke sawdust or drye chyppes.
I speke not nowe of all,
But the moost parte in generall.
Of suche vagabundus
Speketh totus mundus ;
Howe some synge Lætabundus