William Barlow

Though I am olde clothed ī barbarous wede
Nothynge garnysshed with gaye eloquency
Yet I tell the trouth yf ye lyst to take hede
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Awake ye gostely persones awake awake
Bothe preste pope bisshoppe & Cardinall.
Considre wisely what wayes that ye take
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Gentillman.

With soroufull harte maye I coplayne
Cōcerninge the chaunce of my misery
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Christ goddes; sonne borne of a mayden poore
Forto save mankynd from heven descended.
Pope Clemente. the sonne of an whoore
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O Christen reder from rashnes refraine
Of hastye iudgemēt & lyght sentence.
though sū reckē it frowardnes of brayne
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Soroufull was the kyng replete w wo & payne
Whan he the letter reed but yet his inwarde sore
He wolde to no ma showe but shortly wrot agayne
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Of the prowde Cardinall this is the shelde
Borne vp betwene two angels off Sathan.
The sixe blouddy axes in a bare felde
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Thys treatyse more than an C. yere olde
Declareth howe owre prelatis do ferre a mysse
Which of frowarde presumpcion are so bolde
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