Piers Plowman - Maybe You Like It

20.113: And gaderede a greet hoost al agayn Conscience.
20.114: "This Lecherie leide on with laughynge chiere
20.115: And with pryvee speche and peyntede wordes,
20.116: And armede hym in ydelnesse and in heigh berynge.
20.117: He bar a bowe in his hand and manye brode arewes,
20.118: Weren fethered with fair biheste and many a fals truthe.
20.119: With untidy tales he tened ful ofte
20.120: Conscience and his compaignye, of Holy Kirke the techeris.
20.121: Thanne cam Coveitise and caste how he myghte
20.122: Overcome Conscience and Cardinale Vertues,
20.123: And armed hym in avarice and hungriliche lyvede.
20.124: His wepne was al wiles, to wynnen and to hiden;
20.125: With glosynges and with gabbynges he giled the peple.
20.126: Symonye hym s[ue]de to assaille Conscience,
20.127: And preched to the peple, and prelates thei hem maden
20.128: To holden with Antecrist, hir temporaltees to save;
20.129: And cam to the kynges counseille as a kene baroun,
20.130: And kneled to Conscience in Court afore hem alle,
20.131: And garte Good Feith flee and Fals to abide;
20.132: And boldeliche bar adoun with many a bright noble
20.133: Muche of the wit and wisdom of Westmynstre Halle.
20.134: He jogged til a justice and justed in his eere,
20.135: And overtilte al his truthe with "Tak this up amendement.'
20.136: And to the Arches in haste he yede anoon after,
20.137: And tornede Cyvyle into Symonye, and siththe he took the Official:
20.138: For a menever mantel he made lele matrymoyne
20.139: Departen er deeth cam, and a devors shapte.
20.140: "Allas!' quod Conscience, and cryde tho, "wolde Crist of his grace
20.141: That Coveitise were Cristene, that is so kene to fighte,
20.142: And boold and bidynge the while his bagge lasteth!'
20.143: And thanne lough Lyf, and leet daggen hise clothes,
20.144: And armed hym in haste in harlotes wordes,
20.145: And heeld Holynesse a jape and Hendenesse a wastour,
20.146: And leet Leautee a cherl and Lyere a fre man;
20.147: Conscience and counseil, he counted it folye.
20.148: Thus relyede Lif for a litel fortune,
20.149: And priked forth with Pride — preiseth he no vertue,
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