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Of þese dedly synnës seuene,
Þat we wraþþe with, God of heuene,
Of hem haue we touched neyde
As holy men haue wryten and seyd;
Ȝyt mow[ë] we nát weyl werche
Ȝyf we forgetë holy cherche,
holy cherche, our modyr dere,
Of here shul we telle ȝow here,
How men synne, and on what wyse,
Aȝens þat falleþ to here fraunchyse.
Þat aȝens here fraunchyse falles,
‘Sacrylegë’ men hyt calles;
‘Sacrylegë,’ frenche hyt ys,
Menyng of ‘mysdede’ or ‘mys.’
‘Mysdedë to holynes,’
‘Sacrylege’ on Englysshe ys;
Allë þyng þat men with-holde,
Stole or reftë, ȝyue or solde,
with-outë leue of here wytyng,
Þat kepë holy cherches þyng,
Alle swych þyng ys sacrylege,
with-outë leue ys alle outrage.
Now of þe fyrst þat we haue spoke,
Þey þat hauë cherches broke,
And stole þo þynges þat were þer-ynne,
‘Sacrylage’ men calle þat synne.
Ȝyf þyng vnhalewed were forgete,
Þat yn holy cherche were lete,
Or halewed þyng yn ouþer stede lay,
And oght þerof were bore away,
where hyt werë ȝyue or solde,
For sacrylege, alle ys hyt tolde.
Many vyces þerto longe;
Alle are þey synne, but sum are stronge;
y shal ȝow telle of sum maners

272

As ‘manuel pecchés’ me lers.
But, vnkynde and enuyous,
Ouerdo, proud, and daungerous,
Euermorë fynde þey teyl,
Þogh a man sey neuer so weyl;
Noþeles, so weyl y nat seyd,
But þat to my sawe, blame may be leyd
For foule englyssh, and feble ryme
Seyde oute of resun many tyme;
But God ȝelde hem at here endyng,
Þat wyl amende myn vnkunnyng;
But who so blameþ and wyl nat amende,
He doþe nat as þe curteys kende.
Go we furþe now on oure werk:—
Ȝyf a man yn euyl smyte a clerk,
Yn sacrylage he falleþ ylle
Ȝyf he dyde hyt by hys wylle.
Ȝyf he be man of relygyoun,
Þou art to blame with more resun;
Twey skyles are ful perylous,
Boþe ordred and relygyous.
Also relygyous are to wyte,
Þat for maystry wyl gladly smyte;
Þey ogh to be suffráble and meke,
And no foly on ouþer men seke;
Hys tung shuld be hys fauchoun;
Hys strokes shulde be hys orysun;
Ȝyf any be yn foly stoute,
Holde yn cloystre, and com nat out.
Also may he be sore a-ferde
Þat doþ vyleynye yn chyrche ȝerde,
Namly, syn hyt halewed was,
Þe more he doþë of trespas.
Vnkynde man ys he hardly
Þat yn cherche ȝerde doþ vyleyny;

273

Oure long hous hyt ys to come,
To reste yn, tyl þe day of dome.
Þerfore we shuld, ȝyf we were kynde,
kepe hyt clene with godë mynde.
And þese prestes me þynkeþ do synne
Þat late here bestys fyle þer-ynne.
Þe gres ys hys þat þerë grenes,
Þe placë ys þe parysshenes.
But lordës þat haue seynorye,
Þey do þeryn most vyleynye;
For þer hope ys, whan þey shul deye,
Þat yn þe cherche men shul hem leye;
And y shal telle a lytyl wyȝt,
how a bonde man bourded with a knyȝt;
And þe borde ys gode to here,
who-so loueþ wurdes to lere.