_Jhesus._ Xl.ᵗⁱ days and xl.ᵗⁱ nyght Now have I fastyd for mannys sake; A more grett hungyr had nevyr no wyght, Than I myself begynne to take; ffor hungyr in peyn stronge am I pyght, And bred have I non myn hungyr for to slake, A lytel of a loof relese myn hungyr myght, But mursele have I non my comforte for to make; This suffyr I, man, for the. ffor thi glotenye and metys wronge, I suffyr for the this hungyr stronge, I am afferde it wyl be longe Or thou do thus for me. _Sathan._ The Sone of God if that thou be, Be the grett myght of thi godhede, Turne these flyntes, anon lett se, ffrom arde stonys to tendyr brede. More bettyr it is, as I telle the, Wysely to werke aftyr my reed, And shewe thi myght of grett majesté, Than thorw grett hungyr ffor to be dede. These stonys now bred thou make, Goddys Sone if that thou be, Make these stonys bred, lett se, Than mayste thou ete ryght good plenté, Thyn hungyr for to slake. _Jhesus._ Nott only be bred mannys lyff ȝitt stood, But in the wurde of God, as I the say, To mannys sowle is nevyr mete so good, As is the wurd of God that prechid is alway. Bred materyal dothe norche blood, But to mannys sowle, this is no nay, Nevyr more may be a betyr food, Than the wurd of God, that lestyth ay. To here Goddys wurde therfore man love. Thi body doth love materal brede, Withoute the wurde of God thi soule is but dede, To love prechynge therfore I rede, If thou wylt duellyn in blysse above. _Sathan._ ffor no grett hungyr that I kan se, In glotony thou wylt not synne; Now to the temple come forthe with me, And ther xal I shewe the a praty gynne. Up to this pynnacle now go we, I xal the sett on the hyȝest pynne, Ther I preve what that thou be, Or that we tweyn part a twynne, I xal knowe what myght thou have. _Hic ascendit Deus pinnaculum templi, dum diabolus dicit quoque sequitur_, Whan thou art sett upon the pynnacle, Thou xalt ther pleyn a qweynt steracle, Or ellys shewe a grett meracle, Thysself ffrom hurte thou save. _Hic Satanas ponit Jhesum super pinnaculum, dicens_, Now if thou be Goddys ssone of myght, Ryght down to the erthe anon thou ffalle, And save thisylf in every plyght ffrom harm and hurte, and scappys alle; ffor it is wretyn with aungelys bryght That ben in hevyn, thi faderes halle, The to kepe bothe day and nyght, Xul be ful redy as thi tharalle, Hurt that thou non have. That thou stomele not ageyn the ston, And hurt thi fote as thou dost gon, Aungelle be redy alle everychon, In weys the to save.