Bot I haue herkned & herde of mony hyȝe clerkeȝ, & als i{n} resou{n}eȝ of ryȝt red hit my seluen, [Sidenote: The high Prince of all is displeased with those who work wickedly.] Þ{a}t þat ilk prop{er} prynce þat paradys weldeȝ Is displesed at vch a poy{n}t þat plyes to scaþe. 196 Bot neu{er} ȝet i{n} no boke breued I herde Þat eu{er} he wrek so wyþ{er}ly on werk þat he made, Ne venged for no vilté of vice ne sy{n}ne, Ne so hastyfly watȝ hot for hatel of his wylle, 200 Ne neu{er} so sodenly soȝt vn-sou{n}dely to weng, As for fylþe of þe flesch þat foles han vsed; For as I fynde þ{er} he forȝet alle his fre þewes, [Sidenote: For the first fault the devil committed, he felt God’s vengeance.] & wex wod to þe wrache, for wrath at his hert, 204 For þe fyrste felonye þe falce fende wroȝt. Whyl he watȝ hyȝe i{n} þe heuen houen vpon lofte, Of alle þyse aþel au{n}geleȝ attled þe fayrest, [Sidenote: He, the fairest of all angels, forsook his sovereign, and boasted that his throne should be as high as God’s.] & he vnkyndely as a karle kydde areward, 208 He seȝ noȝt bot hym self how semly he were, Bot his sou{er}ayn he forsoke & sade þyse wordeȝ: “I schal telde vp my trone i{n} þe tra mou{n}tayne & by lyke to þat lorde þat þe lyft made. 212 With þis worde þat he warp, þe wrake on hy{m} lyȝt, [Sidenote: For these words he was cast down to hell.] Dryȝtyn w{i}t{h} his dere dom hym drof to þe abyme, I{n} þe mesure of his mode, his metȝ neu{er} þe lasse, Bot þer he tynt þe tyþe dool of his to{ur} ryche, 216 [Sidenote: [Fol. 60a.]] Þaȝ þe felou{n} were so fers for his fayre wedeȝ & his glorio{us} glem þat glent so bryȝt; As sone as dryȝtyneȝ dome drof to hy{m} seluen, [Þi]kke þowsandeȝ þro þrwen þer-oute 220 [Sidenote: The fiends fell from heaven, like the thick snow, for forty days.] Fellen fro þe fyrmame{n}t, fendeȝ ful blake Weued[11] at þe fyrst swap as þe snaw þikke, Hurled i{n}-to helle-hole as þe hyue swarmeȝ; Fyltyr fenden folk forty dayeȝ lencþe, 224 Er þat styngande storme stynt ne myȝt; Bot as smylt mele vnder smal siue smokes for-þikke, [Sidenote: From heaven to hell the shower lasted.] So fro heuen to helle þat hatel schor laste, On vche syde of þe worlde aywhere ilyche. 228 Þis[12] hit watȝ a brem brest & a byge wrache, [Sidenote: The devil would not make peace with God.] & ȝet wrathed not þe wyȝ, ne þe wrech saȝtled, Ne neu{er} wolde, for wylnesful, his worþy god knawe, Ne pray hym for no pité, so proud watȝ his wylle, 232 [Sidenote: Affliction makes him none the better.] For-þy þaȝ þe rape were rank, þe rawþe watȝ lyttel;[13] Þaȝ he be kest into kare he kepes no bett{er}.