Book I, 33: On those that deserve it

O When our Clergie, at the dreadfull Day,
Shal make their Audit; when the Iudge shal say
Give your accompts: What, have my Lambs bin fed?
Say, doe they all stand sound? Is there none dead
By your defaults? come shepheards, bring them forth
That I may crowne your labours in their worth:
O what an answer will be given by some!
We have bin silenc'd: Canons strucke us dumbe;
The Great ones would not let us feed thy flock,
Vnles we pla'd the fooles, and wore a Frock:
We were forbid unles wee'd yeeld to signe
And crosse their browes, they say, a mark of thine.
To say the truth, great Iudge, they were not fed,
Lord, here they be; but, Lord, they be all dead.
Ah cruel Shepheards! Could your conscience serve
Not to be fooles, and yet to let them sterve?
What if your Fiery spirits had bin bound
To Antick Habits; or your heads bin crownd
With Peacocks Plumes; had ye bin forc'd to feed
Your Saviours dear-bought Flock in a fools weed;
He that was scorn'd, revil'd; endur'd the Curse
Of a base death, in your behalfs; nay worse,
Swallow'd the cup of wrath charg'd up to th' brim,
Durst ye not stoope to play the fooles for him?