With jollity my heart grows warm
When gold and silver thickly swarm
Within my coffers, which ne’er fail;
Count ye my schemes of no avail?
To heap is ever my intent,
And much my gain exceeds my rent.
And though I beaten were or slain,
Fear not I’d soon look in again.12220
Love.
You seem a saintly one!
False-Seeming.
Privileges of friars
Quite true,
For dowered am I with orders due:
Curate to all the world am I,
And all men hail me joyfully,
For all their souls have I in cure,
And none without my aid endure.
Full oft I preach and counsel give,
Yet by no handicraft I live;
But from the Pope a bull I’ve got,
For he, good man, suspects me not.12230
With restless diligence I press,
And seek out chances to confess
An emperor, baron, count, or king,
But nought I love the houseling
Of needy folk; not my affair
Are they but on occasion rare.
Nought care I for their mean distresses:
But emperors and great princesses,
