ABSTRACT
sixteenth century This man is a feather To each wind and weather, Not for two days together Holds to one course. No wish hath he to search For living out of church. He would sooner walk with a lurch Than take to his horse. When the wind is in the east Then is he a stout priest, Keeps fast-day and feast As well as any Pope. He does not fail or falter With Latin from book and psalter, And for Mass at the altar Weareth a rich cope. But when it veers to the west, The King’s road is best: Abbeys must be suppressed, Their deeds a foul scandal. Let shrines all be broken, Their plate seized in token, And good English spoken With no cross or candle. When it blows from the north, Then the Roman strides forth; Our tongue is nothing worth In religion and learning. Those who the Bible read And question the true creed, Let no man them heed: They are faggots for burning. Monks and their holy band Are welcome on every hand; Restore their house and land, Creed, cross and shrine. Though lechery be rife, Let a priest take no wife, But stay chaste all his life Except for concubine. But the wind in the south, Words change in his mouth. He upholds the Queen’s truth Now Pope’s truth has gone. Spent is his priestly vow, He will not kneel or bow; Vicar of Christ is now Harlot of Babylon. Thus, Queen or King, Without great suffering, With neither hanging nor quartering He keeps a fair skin. From Choir is he not driven, He stays quick and shriven, And shall go whole to Heaven His crown there to win.
