Iesus. Naye, feende, þou schall be feste, 335
Þat þou schalte flitte not ferre.
29. Sattan. Feste! þat were a foule reasoune,
Nay, bellamy, þou bus be smytte.
Iesus. Mighill! myne aungell, make þe boune,
And feste yone fende, þat he noght flitte. 340
And Deuyll, I comaunde þe go doune
Into thy selle where þou schalte sitte.
[Satan sinks.
Sattan. Owt, ay! herrowe! helpe Mahounde!