_Sathan._ Now Belyard and Belȝabub, ȝe der wurthy devele of helle, And wysest of councel amonges alle the rowte! Herke now what I sey, a tale I xalle ȝow telle, That trobelyth sore my stomak: therof I have grett dowte. _Belyalle._ Syr Sathanas, owre sovereyn, syre, with the wol we dwelle, Alle redy at thi byddynge to the do we lowte; If thou have any nede of oure wyse counselle, Telle us now thi qwestyon alle out and oute; Sey al thi dowt be-dene. _Belsabub._ ȝa, sere, telle us thi dowte by and by, And we xul telle the so sekyrly, That thou xalt knowe verryly What thi dowte dothe mene. _Sathan._ The dowte that I have it is of Cryst i-wys; Born he was in Bedleem, as it is seyd, And many a man wenyth that Goddes sone he is, Born of a woman and she a clene mayd. And alle that evyr he prechyth, it is of hevyn blys, He wyl lese oure lawe, I am ryght sore afrayd; ffayn wolde I knowe who were ffadyr his, ffor of this grett dowte I am sore dysmayd Indede. If that he be Goddys childe, And born of a mayd mylde, Than be we rygh sore begylde, And short xal ben oure spede. Therfore, seres, sumwhat that ȝe shewe, In this grett dowth what is best to do; If he be Goddys sone he wyl brede a shrewe, And werke us meche wrake, bothe wreche and woo: Sorwe and care he wyl sone strewe, Alle oure gode days than xulde sone be goo; And alle oure lore and alle oure lawe he wyl downe hewe, And than be we alle lorn, if that it be soo, He wylle don us alle tene. He wylle be Lorde over hevyn and helle, And ffeche awey alle oure catelle, Therfor shewe now sum good counselle, What comfort may best bene. _Belyalle._ The best wytt that I kan say, Hym to tempte forsothe it is; With sotyl whylys, if that thou may, Asay to make hym to don amys. If that he synne, this is no nay, He may nat be kynge of blys: Hym to tempte, go walke thi way, ffor best counselle I trowe be this; Go forthe now and asay! _Belsabub._ The best wytt I hold it be, Hym to tempte in synnys thre, The whiche mankende is frelté Doth ffalle sonest alway. _Sathan._ So afftyr ȝour wytt now wylle I werke, I wylle no lengere now here abyde; Be he nevyr so wyse a clerke, I xal apposyn hym withinne a tyde. _Belsabub._ Now, lovely Lucyfer, in helle so derke, Kynge and Lorde of synne and pryde; With sum myst his wittys to merke, He send the grace to be thi gyde, And evyr more be thi spede! _Belyalle._ Alle the develys, that ben in helle, Shul pray to Mahound, as I the telle, That thou mayst spede this jurney welle, And comforte the in this dede.