was that time an ordinance That no man shouldë do man such penánce, The fourthë stroke to smitë, soft or sore, This tórmentor he durstë do no more;
But half dead, with her neckë carven there He let her lie, and on his way is went. The Christian folk, which that about her were, With sheetës have the blood full fair y-hent; Three dayës lived she in this tormént, And never ceased them the faith to teach, That she had foster’d them, she gan to preach.
And them she gave her mebles and her thing, And to the Pope Urban betook them tho; And said, “I askë this of heaven’s king, To have respite three dayës and no mo’, To recommend to you, ere that I go, These soulës, lo; and that I might do wirch Here of mine house perpetually a church.”
Saint Urban, with his deacons, privily The body fetch’d, and buried it by night Among his other saintës honestly; Her house the church of Saint Cecilie hight; Saint Urban hallow’d it, as he well might; In which unto this day, in noble wise, Men do to Christ and to his saint servíce.