(Harl. MS. No. 6396.)
Blacke cypresse vailes are shroudes on night,
White linnen railes are raies of light,
Which though we to the girdles weare,
We’ve hands to keep your hands off there.
A fitter dresse we have in Lent,
To shew us trewly penitent.
Whoe makes the band to be a cloke
Makes John-a-style of John-an-oake.
We weare our garments to the feet,
Yet neede not make our bandes a sheet:
The clergie weare as long as we,
Yet that implies conformitie.
Be wise, recant what you have writt,
Least you doe pennance for your witte;
Love’s charm hath power to weare a stringe,
To tye you as you tied your ringe[120];
There by love’s sharpe but just decree
You may be censured, we go free.