[the pricks._ Deme thyself that demest others' deed; _judge._ And truth thee shall deliver--it is no drede.
That thee is sent receive in buxomness: _submission_ The wrestling of this world asketh a fall.

_tempts destruction_ Here is no home, here is but wilderness: Forth, pilgrim, forth!--beast, out of thy stall! Look up on high, and thanke God of[33] all.
Waive thy lusts, and let thy ghost[34] thee lead, And truth thee shall deliver--it is no drede.
This needs no comment.

Even the remark that every line is worth meditation may well appear superfluous.

One little fact only with regard to the rhymes, common to this and the next poem, and usual enough in Norman verse, may be pointed out, namely, that every line in the stanza ends with the same rhyme-sound as the corresponding line in each of the other stanzas.

A reference to either of the poems will at once show what I mean.
The second is superior, inasmuch as it carries one thought through the three stanzas.