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XXXI. PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM.

Sathan. Thus I reyne as a rochand with a rynggyng rowth,
  As a devyl most dowty dred is my dynt;
Many a thowsand develys to me do thei lowth,
  Brennyng in flamys as fyre out of flynt!
Ho so serve me, Sathan, to sorwe is he sent,
  With dragonys in doungenys and develys fu derke,
In bras and in bronston the brethellys be brent,
  That wene in this werd my wyl for to werke!

With myschef on moolde here membrys I merke,
  That japyn with Jhesus that Judas solde;
Be he nevyr so crafty nor conyng clerke,
  I harry them to helle as tretour bolde.
But ther is o thyng that grevyth me sore,
  Of a prophete that Jhesu men calle;
He peynyth me every day more and more,
  With his holy meraclis and werkys alle.

I had hym onys in a temptacyon,
  With glotenye, with covetyse, and veynglorye,
I hasayd hym be alle weys that I cownde don,
  And uttyrly he refusyd hem, and gan me defye.
That rebuke that he gaf me xal not be unqwyt,
  Somwhat I have begonne, and more xal be do;
ffor alle his barfot goyng, fro me xal he not skyp,
  But my derk dongeon I xal bryngyn hym to.