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Now they of Muscovy ben Devyls, und they ben subtle for to make a thing seme otherwise than it is, for to deceive mankind. Wherefore Englishmen putten no trust in them of Muscovy, save only the Englishmen ciept Radicals, for they make as if they loved these Develes, out of the fear and dread of war wherein they go, and would be slaves sooner than fight.
For that Vale is alle fulle of Develes and Fiendes that men clepen Bondholderes, for that Egypt from of olde is the Lond of Bondage. And whatsoever Thresoure cometh into the Lond, these Devyls of Bondholders grabben the same. Natheless by that Vale do Englishmen go unto Ynde, and they gon by Aden, even to Kurrachee, at the mouth of the Flood of Ynde.
And there besyden growen trees, that beren fulle faire apples, and faire of colour to beholde; but whoso brekethe hem or cuttethe hem in two, he schalle fynde with in hem coles and cyndres; in tokene that, be wratthe of God, the cytees and the lond weren brente and sonken into helle. Sum men clepen that see, Lake Dalfetidee; summe, the Flom of Develes; and summe, the flom that is ever stynkynge.
"Ich am afert Lo whet ich see Methinketh hit be develes thre." Over the Skeletons. "Ich wes wel fair Such schel tou be For Godes love be wer by me." In these rude lines is the whole moral of the legend, and of the Dance of Death which grew out of it. That growth was simple, gradual, and natural.
His arrow went straight to the mark. It was not that he did not love beauty, but he loved truth first. There is a curious and graphic drawing of it, circa 1300, in the MS. Arundel 83, Brit. Mus., in which the three dead persons are walking, and are met by three queens, who severally utter the sentences, "Ich am aferd." "Lo, whet ich se?" "Me thinketh hit beth develes thre."
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