A Sirvente Against the Clergy

Vultures fierce and kites, I ween,
Scent not rotting flesh so well
As the priests and friars keen
Scent the rich where'er they dwell;
Soon the rich man's love they gain,
Then if sickness, grief, or pain
Fall on him, great gifts they win,
Robbing thus his kith and kin.

Priests and Frenchmen ever seek
All ill to praise for love of gold;
By usurers and traitors eke
Is this world of ours controll'd;
Lies and fraud to men they've taught,
And confusion 'mongst them brought;
Order none can be discerned
That this lesson has not learned.

Know ye what on them will fall,
Unto whom great goods belong?
One will spoil them of their all,
Death, a robber fierce and strong,
Fells them, strips them, thrusts them down,
In four poor ells of linen brown,
To a dwelling dark and low,
Where great misery they'll know.

Man, great folly thou dost do,
God's commandment why transgress?
He, thy righteous Lord and true
Brought thee out of nothingness.
He that 'gainst the Lord would strive
Thereby does but little thrive;
And will win the same reward
As Judas that betrayed our Lord.

God of Mercy and of Truth,
Saviour, Thou our footsteps lead,
May poor sinners by Thy ruth
Be from Hell's fierce torments freed;
Break from them sin's heavy chain,
'Neath the which they groan in pain,
And if they their faults confess
Grant them Thy forgiveness.