Nor is it wondrous that it should be so.
A sorry juggler can bewilder thee;
And 'faith, I think I know more craft than he."

"But why," inquired the Sumner, "must ye don
So many shapes, when ye might stick to one?"
"We suit the bait unto the fish," quoth he.
"And why," quoth t'other, "all this slavery?"
"For many a cause, Sir Sumner," quoth the fiend;
"But time is brief--the day will have an end;
And here jog I, with nothing for my ride;
Catch we our fox, and let this theme abide:
For, brother mine, thy wit it is too small
To understand me, though I told thee all;
And yet, as toucheth that same slavery,
A devil must do God's work, 'twixt you and me;
For without Him, albeit to our loathing,
Strong as we go, we devils can do nothing;
Though to our prayers, sometimes, He giveth leave
Only the body, not the soul, to grieve.
Witness good Job, whom nothing could make wrath;
And sometimes have we power to harass both;
And, then again, soul only is possest,
And body free; and all is for the best.
Full many a sinner would have no salvation,
Gat it he not by standing our temptation:
Though God He knows, 'twas far from our intent
To save the man:- his howl was what we meant.
Nay, sometimes we be servants to our foes:
Witness the saint that pulled my master's nose;