Alas, my sister, ye gar me greet, That ye make me such shameful mocks. AUNT Yea, had ye kept her locked up in a box, So had your trouble not begun. God’s son, goodman, what harm is done If she follow her lust at large a bit? It will not matter to her no whit Nor fare the worse by a single straw. She will not go halt for it. UNCLE This doth my spirit so adaw I fear mine heart in four will cleave. I must turn me about and with my sleeve Wipe from mine eyes and cheeks a tear. O mother of God, the which each year In Aix I visit and adore, Help me now as ye have done yore, And ye in Maestricht, Saint Servace, Devoutly have I set in place Full many a candle, as ye wot: I pray you now, forsake me not. In time of need it is to one’s friends one must look; I will now let search for her in every nook If any of her may have heard. Though I be stirred, ’Tis but small wonder that I grieve: Of lief ’tis ill to take one’s leave. After this Sir Gysbrecht departed him from his sister sad at heart because he gat no tidings of Mary his niece. ¶ How the wicked aunt thrust a dagger in her throat. In the meanwhile the chastelain of Grave let the old duke Arent forth of the prison and led him to the town of Bolduc where he was right royally received by the lords of that same. Which hearing, the wicked aunt waxed so wrathful in her venomous heart that she well nigh burst for spite, saying: Help me, liver, lights, and spleen, Teeth and head, nought goes aright! I shall smother or split with teen: Like a spider I swell with spite; From my wits I be thrust out quite At the tidings that I hear. The old thief, in the castle that was locked tight, He is got from Grave scot-free and clear. Now all my comfort is but drear, And the young duke, whom I obeyed, Will shortly have but sorry cheer. Such woe is me that I am near To yield me, body and soul as I was made, And summon all devils to mine aid. THE DEVIL Ha, ha! there’s profit as in this case! Her soul is mine if I have the space Of half an hour on her to bestow. AUNT Is it not noyous? THE DEVIL Yea, and a shrewd blow To them as were counted the young duke’s men. AUNT To say the truth on’t, what is he, then, Who ever a finer fellow saw with eye? Yea, though in hell I must everlastingly fry, I could cut my throat out of pure spite, So I were done with this business quite. Adieu and farewell, valiant young peer. But so ye be duke in after year Is all I ask for my shortened life. Thus in my throat I thrust the knife And with a blow I end me quite. Faction has damned full many a wight. THE DEVIL