"There," quoth the fiend unto the Sumner; "see,
I told thee how 'twould fall. Thou seest, dear brother,
The churl spoke one thing, but he thought another.
Let us prick on, for we take nothing here."

And when from out the town they had got clear,
The Sumner said, "Here dwelleth an old witch,
That had as lief be tumbled in a ditch
And break her neck, as part with an old penny.
Nathless her twelve pence is as good as any,
And I will have it, though she lose her wits;
Or else I'll cite her with a score of writs:
And yet, God wot, I know of her no vice.
So learn of me, Sir Fiend: thou art too nice."

The Sumner clappeth at the widow's gate.
"Come out," he saith, "thou hag, thou quiver-pate:
I trow thou hast some friar or priest with thee."
"Who clappeth?" said this wife; "ah, what say ye?
God save ye, masters: what is your sweet will?"
"I have," said he, "of summons here a bill:
Take care, on pain of cursing, that thou be
To-morrow morn, before the Archdeacon's knee,
To answer to the court of certain things."

"Now, Lord," quoth she, "sweet Jesu, King of kings,
So help me, as I cannot, sirs, nor may:
I have been sick, and that full many a day.
I may not walk such distance, nay, nor ride,