26. _Sattan._ O we! þanne se I howe þou menys emang Some mesure with malice to melle, Sen þou sais all schall noȝt gang, But some schalle alway with vs dwelle. _Iesus._ Ȝaa, witte þou wele, ellis were it wrang, 305 Als cursed Cayme þat slewe Abell, And all þat hastis hemselue to hange, Als Iudas and Archedefell, Datan and Abiron, And alle of þare assente; 310 Als tyrantis euerilkone Þat me and myne turmente. 27. And all þat liste noght to lere my lawe, Þat I haue lefte in lande nowe newe, Þat is my comyng for to knawe, 315 And to my sacramente pursewe, Mi dede, my rysing, rede be rawe, Who will noght trowe, þei are noght trewe, Vnto my dome I schall þame drawe, And iuge þame worse þanne any Iewe. 320 And all þat likis to leere My lawe, and leue þerbye, Shall neuere haue harmes heere, But welthe, as is worthy. 28. _Sattan._ Nowe here my hande, I halde me paied; 325 Þis poynte is playnly for oure prowe; If þis be soth þat þou hast saide, We schall haue moo þanne we haue nowe. Þis lawe þat þou nowe late has laide I schall lere men noȝt to allowe. 330 Iff þei it take, þei be betraied, For I schall turne þame tyte, I trowe. I schall walke este and weste, And garre þame werke wele werre. _Iesus._ Naye, feende, þou schall be feste, 335 Þat þou schalte flitte not ferre. 29. _Sattan._ Feste! þat were a foule reasoune, Nay, bellamy, þou bus be smytte. _Iesus._ Mighill! myne aungell, make þe boune, And feste yone fende, þat he noght flitte. 340 And Deuyll, I comaunde þe go doune Into thy selle where þou schalte sitte. [_Satan sinks._ _Sattan._ Owt, ay! herrowe! helpe Mahounde! Nowe wex I woode oute of my witte. _Belsabub._ Sattan, þis saide we are, 345 Nowe schall þou fele þi fitte. _Sattan._ Allas! for dole and care, I synke into helle pitte. [_Falls into the pit._ 30. _Adame._ A! Iesu Lorde, mekill is Þi myght, That mekis Þiselffe in þis manere, 350 Vs for to helpe, as Þou has hight, Whanne both forfette, I and my feere. Here haue we leuyd withouten light Foure thousand and six hundred ȝere; Now se I be þis solempne sight 355 Howe Thy mercy hath made vs cle_r_e. _Eue._ A! Lorde, we were worthy Mo turmentis for to taste, But mende vs with mercye, Als Þou of myght is moste. 360