Lucifer’s lights, liver and spleen confound! Now may I sputter flames and howl; Now runneth all my fair to foul; And they who prowl in Hell will give me small acclaim. Rise up in all the devils’ name Or with hosen and shoon into the jakes ye go. EMMA O Lord, have mercy upon me! MOONEN Yea, stands it so? Now I perceive remorse in her doth gnaw. Up into the clouds I will her draw And towering high down hurl her with might and with main; If she to herself do come again, The whelp may think her luck is fair.— Here, here, ye go with me aloft in the air. After these words hath Moonen the devil caught up Emma in the air higher than is any house or church, the which her uncle and all the people beheld, wondering exceedingly and not knowing what it might mean. ¶ How Moonen cast down Emma from on high and how she was discovered to her uncle. When Moonen the devil had caught up Emma high above all the houses, he cast her down from above into the street as he was minded to break her neck, whereat the people were sore adrad. And Sir Gysbrecht, her eme, who hearkened also to the play, marveled what it meant and who it might be that fell from so great height, saying and asking of them that stood by thus: Her luck is good if her neck be not broke in twain. My heart feeleth unutterable pain To look on one in such array. Know ye her not? Who is the woman, I pray? A BURGHER I would fain see if I know her, without a doubt, But there be such press of folk hereabout That I may nowise come her to. Follow me close, and ye shall see what I will do. He is a fool says I am not stout to make them give ground. See ye, sir, the poor lady lieth in a swound, She be gone out of herself. THE UNCLE It is small wonder so. Help, all the blood of my body from top to toe Be crept from me forth, as I deem. The tears do from mine eyes stream; My veins be dead and my color turned into pale; Never thus have I felt my strength fail. Ah friend, have a care of me, I you beseech. THE BURGHER Stay sir, what aileth you, as by your speech? Ye be changed as if ye were but dead. THE UNCLE I would well that were my fate instead. O Atropos, grant me of my life release! THE BURGHER Wherefore do ye thus? THE UNCLE Oh, it is my niece, For the which my heart is fulfilled of sorrow. For her have I searched this seven year on even and on morrow. Now lieth she here with her neck broken in twain. O earth, open and swallow me amain; Here I would no longer tarry. THE BURGHER Be ye sure ’tis she? THE UNCLE Should I not know her, marry? Or mean ye that in my wit I fail? MOONEN