To helpe þe sely soule to liuen
Þat Iesu Crist vs haþ ȝeuen.
Þer beo dedly sinnes seueñ
Þat letten men to com to heueñ,
Þat alle þat leouen in godes lore,
Of twelue winter old or more,
Euerichon þei sholde knowe,
Bot to lerne þei beon to slowe.
Listeþ nouh boþe ȝong and olde,
And ȝe shole here smertly hem tolde.
At pride first I wile begynne,
For it is hed of al oure sinne.
Grete lordes wiþ londes and ledes,
Þat riden vpon gret stedes,
Clad in purpre and in pall,
In taffata and in sendall,
Castelles, halles and chambres wide —
Al þis telleþ god no pride,
Þat man may wiþ treuthe winne.
To liue wiþ honour þat is no sinne
In loue and in gode lyf,
Wiþ oute contek, wiþ oute strif.
Bot he þat haþ londes wide
And maigteneþ ouer gret pride
And pileþ his pore men þer fore
To paie for pride þat haþ he lore,
And falseliche winneþ londes and ledes
To mayntene his dedes
In liking of worldly winne —
Suche pride is dedly sinne.
Þis is a foule pride ywis,
And an oþer pride þer is
Among men of lasse catel,
And þat ȝe shole here wel.
If a man for enuie
Of þat he seoþ wiþ his eye
Þat his neigheboure beo
Better atired þan he
And telleþ of him self so myche
And atireþ him richeliche,
