Jesus super Pynaculum templi, et diabolus temptans eum, cure
lapidibus, et ij angeli administrantes etc.
DEVIL ¶Make room! Be alive! And let me gang.
What makes here all this madding throng?
Hie you all hence! High might you bang,
Right with a rope.
I dread me that I dwell too long
To do a jape.
For since the first time that I fell
For my high pride from heaven to hell,
Ever have I mustered me to tell
How I in dole might make them dwell,
There to be pined.
And sure, all that have since been bornn
Have come to me, mid-day and morn;
I have ordained so therefor;
None may them fend,
That from all liking they are lorn
Without an end.
And now some men speak of a swain,
How he shall come and suffer pain,
And with his death to bliss again
They should be bought.
But sure, this tale's but a trick and vain;
I trust it nought.
For I know every deal, I ween,
Of this same minion that men mean,
How he has in great trouble been
Since he was born,
And suffered mickle plots and pain,