“Take thou thy part, whatever men will give, And I will do the same, so both shall live; And if the one get more than doth the other, Let him be true and share it with his brother.” “I grant it,” said the devil, “by my fay.” With that, they rode together on their way. As they proceeded they saw right at the town’s end a cart laden with hay. The road was heavy with mud, so that the cart stuck. The carter smote his horses, and cried like mad, “Hait! go on![129] The fiend take you--what a labour I have with you. The fiend have it all, cart, horse, and hay!” The Summoner, hearing this, remembered he was to have half of all the evil one’s goods, and whispered to him, “Don’t you hear what the carter says? Take it all quick--he has given it you--hay, and cart, and the three horses!” “Nay,” said the evil one, “he does not _mean_ what he says. He is only in a passion. Ask him yourself, or else wait and see what comes next.” The carter whacked his horses, and they began to stoop and pull the cart out, and then he said, “Hait! bless you--good Dobbins--well pulled, my own grey boy! Now is my cart out of the mud.” “There, brother, what did I tell you?” says the fiend. “Now, you see the churl said one thing, but he thought another. Let us go on; I shall get nothing here.” With that they went a little way outside the town. The Summoner began to whisper to his companion, “Here there lives an old beldame who would almost as soon lose her head as give up a penny of her goods. But I mean to have twelve pence[130] out of her, though she should go mad; or else I’ll haul her up before the court. And yet, all the same, I know no harm of her. But if you want a lesson how to extort your gains in your country, you may take example of me!” The Summoner goes and raps at the old widow’s gate. “Come out, you old crone. I dare say you are in mischief there!” he cried. “Who knocks?” said the old woman. “God save you, sir. What is your will?” “I’ve a bill of summons against you. On pain of cursing, see that you are to-morrow before the archdeacon, to answer to the court.” “God help me,” says the poor old woman, in great distress. “I have been ill a long time, and cannot walk so far, and to ride[131] would kill me, my side pricks so. May I not ask for a libel,[132] and answer there by my procurator whatever there is against me?” “Yes,” says the Summoner, “pay me--let’s see--twelve pence, and I will let you off. I shall not get much profit out of that. My master gets it, and not I. Make haste and give me twelve pence--I can’t wait.” “Twelve pence!” said the poor widow. “Now, heaven help me out of this. I have not so much as twelve pence in the whole wide world. You know that I am old and poor. Rather give me alms.” “Nay, then,” cries the hard-hearted Summoner, “I will not let you off, even if you die of it.” “Alas!” says she, “I am not guilty.”