MARY
... Friend,
I sit now all at my wits’ end,
This my machine so wrought to hurt
By shameful words, the which without desert
I needs must bear: slut, harlot, whore,
That to the Fiend I’d liefly give me o’er
As to God, for I be half from my wit.
THE DEVIL
By Lucifer, ’tis purchase, all of it!