"Done," quoth the fiend, whose eyes in secret glowed;
And with that word they pricked along the road:
And soon it fell, that entering the town's end,
To which this Sumner shaped him for to wend,
They saw a cart that loaded was with hay,
The which a carter drove forth on his way.
Deep was the mire, and sudden the cart stuck:
The carter, like a madman, smote and struck,
And cried, "Heit, Scot; heit, Brock! What! is't the stones?
The devil clean fetch ye both, body and bones:
Must I do nought but bawl and swinge all day?
Devil take the whole--horse, harness, cart, and hay."

The Sumner whispered to the fiend, "I' faith,
We have it here. Hear'st thou not what he saith?
Take it anon, for he hath given it thee,
Live stock and dead, hay, cart, and horses three!"

"Nay," quoth the fiend, "not so;--the deuce a bit.
He sayeth; but, alas! not meaneth it:
Ask him thyself, if thou believ'st not me;
Or else be still awhile, and thou shalt see."

Thwacketh the man his horses on the croup,
And they begin to draw now, and to stoop.
"Heit there," quoth he; "heit, heit; ah, matthywo.
Lord love their hearts! how prettily they go!
That was well twitched, methinks, mine own grey boy:
I pray God save thy body, and Saint Eloy.
Now is my cart out of the slough, pardie."