"Hem lyketh to be clene, body and goost, Of myn estaat I nil nat make no boost. For wel ye knowe, a lord in his houshold, He hath nat every vessel al of gold; Somme been of tree, and doon hir lord servyse. God clepeth folk to him in sondry wyse, And everich hath of god a propre yifte, Som this, som that,—as him lyketh shifte."