Shryfte of mowthe loke that ȝe make,
And than the fende in helle so blake,
He xal ȝow nevyr more greve.
A tre that is bareyn and wyl here no frute,
The ownere wyl hewe it downe and cast it on the fyre;
Ryght so it be man that folwyth the fowle sute
Of the devyl of helle, and werkyth his desyre.
God wyl be vengyd on man that is bothe dum and mute,
That wyl nevyr be shrevyn, but evyr more doth delyre;
Clothe the in clennes, with vertu be indute,