And to the apostle servant eke was I."
"Yet tell me," quoth this Sumner, "faithfully,
Are the new shapes ye take for your intents
Fresh every time, and wrought of elements?"
"Nay," quoth the fiend, "sometimes they be disguises;
And sometimes in a corpse a devil rises,
And speaks as sensibly, and fair, and well,
As did the Pythoness to Samuel:
And yet will some men say, it was not he!
Lord help, say I, this world's divinity.
Of one thing make thee sure; that thou shalt know,
Before we part, the shapes we wear below.
Thou shalt--I jest thee not--the Lord forbid!
Thou shalt know more than ever Virgil did,
Or Dante's self. So let us on, sweet brother,
And stick, like right warm souls, to one another:
I'll never quit thee, till thou quittest me."

"Nay," quoth the Sumner, "that can never be;
I am a man well known, respectable;
And though thou wert the very lord of hell,
Hold thee I should as mine own plighted brother:
Doubt not we'll stick right fast, each to the other:
And, as we think alike, so will we thrive:
We twain will be the merriest devils alive.
Take thou what's given; for that's thy mode, God wot;
And I will take, whether 'tis given or not.
And if that either winneth more than t'other,
Let him be true, and share it with his brother."