“But thou may’st say, thy princes have thee maked Minister of death; for if thou speak of mo’, Thou liest; for thy power is full naked.” “Do away thy boldness,” said Almachius tho, “And sacrifice to our gods, ere thou go. I reckë not what wrong that thou me proffer, For I can suffer it as a philosópher.
“But thosë wrongës may I not endure, That thou speak’st of our goddës here,” quoth he. Cecile answér’d, “O nicë creatúre, Thou saidest no word, since thou spake to me, That I knew not therewith thy nicety, And that thou wert in every manner wise A lewëd officer, a vain justíce.
“There lacketh nothing to thine outward eyen That thou art blind; for thing that we see all That it is stone, that men may well espyen, That ilkë stone a god thou wilt it call. I rede thee let thine hand upon it fall, And taste it well, and stone thou shalt it find; Since that thou see’st not with thine eyen blind.
“It is a shamë that the people shall So scornë thee, and laugh at thy follý; For commonly men wot it well over all, That mighty God is in his heaven high; And these imáges, well may’st thou espy, To thee nor to themselves may not profíte, For in effect they be not worth a mite.”
These wordës and such others saidë she, And he wax’d wroth, and bade men should her lead Home to her house; “And in her house,” quoth he, “Burn her right in a bath, with flamës red.” And as he bade, right so was done the deed; For in a bath they gan her fastë shetten, And night and day great fire they under betten.
The longë night, and eke a day also, For all the fire, and eke the bathë’s heat, She sat all cold, and felt of it no woe, It made her not one droppë for to sweat; But in that bath her lifë she must lete. For he, Almachius, with full wick’ intent, To slay her in the bath his sondë sent.
Three strokës in the neck he smote her tho, The tórmentor, but for no manner chance He might not smite her fairë neck in two: And, for there