Volume I Part 32 (2/2)

Beshrew him for me, that is last out of this place.

PITY.

Lo, Lords, they may curse the time they were born, For the weeds that overgroweth the corn, They troubled me guiltless, and wote not why, For G.o.d's love yet will I suffer patiently: We all may say well-a-way, for sin that is now-a-day.

Lo, virtue is vanished for ever and aye; Worse was it never.[137]

We have plenty of great oaths, And cloth enough in our clothes, But charity many men loathes, Worse was it never.

Alas, now is lechery called love indeed, And murder named manhood in every need, Extortion is called law, so G.o.d me speed; Worse was it never.

Youth walketh by night with swords and knives, And ever among true men leseth their lives, Like heretics we occupy other men's wives, Now-a-days in England: Bawds be the destroyers of many young women, And full lewd counsel they give unto them; How you do marry, beware, you young men, The wise never tarrieth too long; There be many great scorners, But for sin there be few mourners; We have but few true lovers In no place now-a-days; There be many goodly-gilt knaves, And I know, as many apparelled wives, Yet many of them be unthrifty of their lives, And all set in pride to go gay.

Mayors on sin doeth no correction, While[138] gentle men beareth truth adown; Avoutry[139] is suffered in every town, Amendment is there none, And G.o.d's commandments we break them all ten.

Devotion is gone many days sin.[140]

Let us amend us we true Christian men, Ere death make you groan.

Courtiers go gay, and take little wages, And many with harlots at the tavern haunts, They be yeomen of the wreath that be shackled in gyves; On themselves they have no pity: G.o.d punisheth full sore with great sickness, As pox, pestilence, purple, and axes, Some dieth suddenly that death full perilous, Yet was there never so great poverty.

There be some sermons made by n.o.ble doctors; But truly the fiend doth stop men's ears, For G.o.d nor good man some people not fears; Worse was it never.

All truth is not best said, And our preachers now-a-days be half afraid: When we do amend, G.o.d would be well apaid; Worse was it never.

CONTEMPLATION.

What, Master Pity, how is it with you?

PERSEVERANCE.

Sir, we be sorry to see you in this case now.

PITY.

Brethren, here were three perilous men, Freewill, Hickscorner, and Imagination; They said, I was a thief, and laid felony upon me, And bound me in irons, as ye may see.

CONTEMPLATION.

Where be the traitors become now?

PITY.

In good faith, I cannot show you.

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