“Twelvepence!” quoth she; “now lady Sainte Mary So wisly* help me out of care and sin, *surely This wide world though that I should it win, No have I not twelvepence within my hold. Ye know full well that I am poor and old; *Kithe your almes* upon me poor wretch.” *show your charity* “Nay then,” quoth he, “the foule fiend me fetch, If I excuse thee, though thou should’st be spilt.”* *ruined “Alas!” quoth she, “God wot, I have no guilt.” “Pay me,” quoth he, “or, by the sweet Saint Anne, As I will bear away thy newe pan For debte, which thou owest me of old, — When that thou madest thine husband cuckold, — I paid at home for thy correction.” “Thou liest,” quoth she, “by my salvation; Never was I ere now, widow or wife, Summon’d unto your court in all my life; Nor never I was but of my body true. Unto the devil rough and black of hue Give I thy body and my pan also.” And when the devil heard her curse so Upon her knees, he said in this mannere; “Now, Mabily, mine owen mother dear, Is this your will in earnest that ye say?” “The devil,” quoth she, “so fetch him ere he dey,* *die And pan and all, but* he will him repent.” *unless “Nay, olde stoat,* that is not mine intent,” *polecat Quoth this Sompnour, “for to repente me For any thing that I have had of thee; I would I had thy smock and every cloth.” “Now, brother,” quoth the devil, “be not wroth; Thy body and this pan be mine by right. Thou shalt with me to helle yet tonight, Where thou shalt knowen of our privity* *secrets More than a master of divinity.” And with that word the foule fiend him hent.* *seized Body and soul, he with the devil went, Where as the Sompnours have their heritage; And God, that maked after his image Mankinde, save and guide us all and some, And let this Sompnour a good man become. Lordings, I could have told you (quoth this Frere), Had I had leisure for this Sompnour here, After the text of Christ, and Paul, and John, And of our other doctors many a one, Such paines, that your heartes might agrise,* *be horrified Albeit so, that no tongue may devise,* — *relate Though that I might a thousand winters tell, — The pains of thilke* cursed house of hell *that But for to keep us from that cursed place Wake we, and pray we Jesus, of his grace, So keep us from the tempter, Satanas. Hearken this word, beware as in this case. The lion sits *in his await* alway *on the watch* <16> To slay the innocent, if that he may. Disposen aye your heartes to withstond The fiend that would you make thrall and bond; He may not tempte you over your might, For Christ will be your champion and your knight; And pray, that this our Sompnour him repent Of his misdeeds ere that the fiend him hent.* *seize Notes to the Friar’s Tale