Alas! what shul we freres do,
Now lewed men cun Holy Writ? cun/know
Alle aboute where I go
They aposen me of it. They confront me with hard questions about it
Then wondreth me that it is so,
How lewed men cun alle wit.
Sertely, we be undo
But if we mo amende it.
I trowe the devil brought it aboute,
To write the Gospel in Englishe,
For lewed men ben nowe so stout
That they yeven us neither fleshe ne fishe.
When I come into a shope
For to say, “In principio,”
They bidene me, “Go forth, lewed ‘Pope’,”
And worche and win my silver so.
If I say it longeth not If I say it is not right
For prestes to worche whether they go, worche/work
They leggen for them Holy Writ,
And seyn that Seint Polle did so.
Than they loken on my nabite nabite/habit
And seyn, “Forsothe, withouten othes,
Whether it be russet, black or white,
It is worthe alle oure weringe clothes!”
I seye I bidde not for me bidde/beg
Both for them that have none:
They seyn, “Thou havest to or thre!
Yeven them that nedeth therof one.” Yeven/give
Thus oure disceites bene aspiede,
In this maner, and many moo,
Fewe men bedden us abide, Few men bid us stay
But hey fast, that we were go.
If it go forthe in this maner
It wole doen us miche gile.
Men shul finde unnethe a frere unnethe a/scarcely one
In Englonde within a while.
– from Medieval English Lyrics
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