‘We accurse thee within and without, going or staying, in wood, in water, or in field. Accurse them, Father and Son and Holy Ghost; accurse them Angels and Archangels and all the Nine Orders of Heaven; accurse them, Patriarchs, Prophets and Apostles and all God’s disciples and all Holy Innocents, Martyrs, Confessors and Virgins, Monks, Canons, Hermits, Priests and Clerks.’ By this time Priest and Bailiff clung together in mortal terror. Their teeth chattered, their knees turned to water under them, their bones were loosened, a clammy sweat bathed them both, their hair stood on end. ‘Curse, Sir John, curse, for God’s sake, or we are lost,’ gasped the Bailiff. ‘_Fiat, fiat, Domine_,’ groaned the Parson. The next moment the door was flung suddenly open, a thunderbolt from the darkness hurtled across the room and upset the oil-lamp, a nauseous smell of burning filled the air, smoke and flames leapt up to the ceiling from the straw figure in the corner. Ten thousand devils seemed to belabour the Priest and the Bailiff, countless stout blows were showered on their bodies, countless buffets were bestowed on pate and back and midriff until they roared and shrieked again. Then suddenly the blows ceased and they were left in darkness and silence once more. ‘Ugh,’ groaned the Bailiff as he came to himself, ‘I am a mass of bruises. Never will I speak evil of the Devil again; he hath broken my back, I think.’ ‘Oh Mary,’ moaned the Priest, ‘I ache all over; ’twas a heavy-handed Devil, or a legion of them at least.’ ‘I wish, by Our Lady,’ quoth the Bailiff savagely, ‘the Devil would exercise a little discretion and know his own from others. _We_ haven’t sold our souls to him, _we_ haven’t spent his gold and had his pretty wenches. Methinks thou chosest a mighty inapt prayer, Sir John, that we caught such a shrewd beating.’ ‘It might have been worse but for our prayers,’ replied the Parson. ‘It could not have been much worse,’ said the Bailiff. ‘This meaneth a leech and bed for a week for me; Devil-watching is no fit pastime for a man of my years. Who next selleth himself to the Devil will get no help of me, I promise thee.’ ‘Canst creep to the fire and light the lamp?’ moaned Sir John. ‘The cursed Devils have beaten me so I cannot move a limb.’ The Bailiff crawled to the fire and re-lit the smouldering lamp and piled light wood on the fire. Satan had not been deceived, and had not carried off the man of straw. Nevertheless he had grievously and spitefully used him by fire. ‘Lo, the power of the Fiend,’ said Sir John, displaying the effigy’s entrails all blackened and charred. ‘Yet doubt not the Doctor hath safely defied him in the inviolable sanctity of the blessed Saint Osbert.’ The Bailiff grunted and tenderly handled his posterior. ‘Then would God I had been in his place and he in mine,’ he said.