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I cald to minde the assertion of some Philosophers, who said the soule was nothing but bloud: then thought I, what a filthie thing were this, if I should let my soule fall and breake his necke into a bason. I had but a pimple rose with heate in that part of the veyne where they vse to pricke, and I fearfully misdeemed it was my soule searching for passage.
Look what ther is, put in thin hand and grope, Thow fyndè shalt ther silver, as I hope. What, devel of hellè! Sholde it ellis be? Shavyng of silver silver is, parde! He putte his hand in, and took up a teyne Of silver fyn, and glad in every veyne Was this preest, when he saugh that it was so.
The Chaucerian stanza rhymes a b a b b c c: "'Loke up, I seye, and telle me what she is Anon, that I may gone aboute thi nede: Know iche hire ought? for my love telle me this; Thanne wolde I hopen the rather for to spede. Tho gan the veyne of Troilus to blede, For he was hit, and wex alle rede for schame; 'Aha! quod Pandare, 'here bygynneth game."
The veyne in his left hand that is deriued from his heart with no faint blow he pierst, & with the bloud that flowd from it, writ a ful obligation of his soule to the diuell: yea, more earnestly he praid vnto God neuer to forgiue it his soule, than manie Christians doo to saue theyr soules. These fearfull ceremonies brought to an end, I bad him ope his mouth and gape wide.
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