When conscience his werkis chyde,
Þat man shal neuere reioyse lond.
Fro alle vertues þat doþ hym hyde,
To alle myscheues he makeþ hym bond.
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(5)
¶ Blessed be he þat morneþ sore
His breþere synnes, his awen mysdede,
Repente, and wille to do no more,
But holde þe hestes þat god bede;
Line 36
His wrong wynnyng aȝen restore,
And helpe pore þat han nede.
He shal be counforted þerfore,
In heuene blisse haue his mede.
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(6)
¶ Than cursed be he haþ ioye of synne,
And euere encreseþ mo and mo,
Boste þerof, delyte þerynne,
Ȝeue men ensample to do so.
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Heuene ȝates fro hem they pynne,
Of goddis frendis make goddis foo;
In helle þey purchas here ynne;
His felaschipe, with hym thay go.
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(7)
¶ Blessed euere mote he be,
Þat hungren and thursten ryȝtwisnes;
He wolde were wel in al degre,
Þat god and man echon had his.
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Gostly hunger and thurstes he
Þat fayn wolde mende þat is mys.
Ful filled he shal wiþ grete deynte
At goddis feste in heuene blisse.
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(8)
¶ Than cursed is he þat ful is fylde,
Wiþ wrong take pore mennys thrift,
Þat makeþ pore men be spilde, [MS.: spiȝed.]
For synguler profyt is sotyll theft;
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