¶ How Emma doth a little lament her sinful life. Emma thus dwelling in Antwerp and being ware of the evil of her life, since for her sake marvelous much wickedness was daily done of Moonen’s contriving, said with herself thus: O memory and wit, took ye but thought Upon the life that now I lead, It would appear a thing of naught. The brightness of Heaven ye have left and sought The path of Hell, that is foul indeed. Wellnigh each day doth some wight bleed Or come even to his death for my sake. And I wot well that Moonen doth this mischief breed. He is not of the best, I undertake; Though he saith little I may not him mistake: He is a fiend or but little more. O aunt, mine aunt, the foul words that ye spake Will make of me a damned whore, For whom God holds no grace in store. Oh, woe is me and wellaway! For any returning I bewandered too wide. Mary I was wont to serve each day With prayers or what else to her pay; Now my devotions be wholly laid aside. And eke he will me roundly chide If I do cross myself, whereof he is not fain; Whereby it is right easily descried That he is evil, who crossing doth disdain. How shall I repent? Alas, ’tis plain That I be stept whither is no retreating. Hola, yonder I have spied twain To whom I yesterday did grant a merry meeting. I must go forth and give them pleasant greeting. After this she sat her down to drink with her potmates, among the which Moonen so wrought that again one of them met his death. And he who did it was led of Moonen beyond the city walls where at the devil’s prompting he slew yet another, in the hope, as Moonen had told, that he should thus possess him of great store of money; whereat Moonen rejoiced exceedingly saying: