An if the Highest doth me no let,
Ere a year more than a thousand souls I shall have won;
If He otherwise wills, then my baking is done.
¶ How Emma doth a little lament her sinful life.
Emma thus dwelling in Antwerp and being ware of the evil of her life, since for her sake marvelous much wickedness was daily done of Moonen’s contriving, said with herself thus:
O memory and wit, took ye but thought
Upon the life that now I lead,
It would appear a thing of naught.
The brightness of Heaven ye have left and sought
The path of Hell, that is foul indeed.