Classic Poem

Alle bakbiteres hi wendeth to helle,
Robberes and reveres and the manquelle;
Lechers and horlings thider shulleth wende,
And ther hi shulle wunie ever buten ende.
Alle thees false chapmen the feend hem wille habbe,
Bakeres and breweres for alle men hi gabbe:
Lowe hi holdeth here galun, mid berme hi hine fulleth,
And ever of the purse that selver hi tulleth;
Bothe hi maketh feble here bred and here ale;
Habbe hi that selver, ne telleth hi never tale.
 Goode men, for Godes luve, bileveth suche sinne,
For at then ende it binimeth hevenriche winne.
 Alle preestes wives, ich wot hi beeth forlore;
Thees persones, ich wene, ne beeth hi nought forbore,
Ne thees prude yonge men that luvieth Malekin,
And thees prude maidenes that luvieth Janekin.
At chirche and at cheping whenne hi togedere cume,
Hi runeth togederes and speketh of derne luve;
Whenne hi to chirche cometh to then holy day,
Everich wille his leef y-see ther, if he may:
Heo beholdeth Watckin mid swithe glad eye;
At hom is hire Pater Noster , biloken in hire teye;
Masses and matines ne kepeth heo nought,
For Wilekin and Watekin beeth in hire thought.
Robin wille Gilot leden to then ale,
And sitten ther togederes and tellen here tale;
He may quiten hire ale and sithe don that game;
An eve to go mid him ne thincheth hire no shame.
Hire sire and hire dame threteth hire to bete;
N'ille heo forgo Robin for al here threte.
Ever heo wille hire skere, ne com hire no man nigh,
Fort that hire wombe up arise on high.
 Goode men, for Godes luve, bileveth youre sinne,
For at then ende it binimeth hevenriche winne.