Whan Maximus had herd the seintes lore,
He gat him to his jailers fulle leve,
And bad them to his hous withouten more;
And with their preching, ere that it were eve,
They have y-made the jailers to bileeve,
And took from Maxime, and his folk each one,
The false faith, to trust in God allone.

Cecilie cam, when it was waxen night,
With prestes, that them cristened alle in feere;
And afterward, when day was waxen light,
Cecilie them sayde with a ful stedefast chere;
“Now, Cristes owne knyghtes leef and deere,
Cast al away the werkes of derknéss,
And arm you al in armur of brightnéss.

“Ye have forsothe y-don a greet batayle;
Youre cours is don, youre faith have ye conserved!
Go to the coroun of lyf that may not fayle;
The rightful judge, which that ye have served,
Shal geve it you, as ye have it deserved.”
And when this thing was sayd, as I devyse,
Men ladde them forth to do the sacrifise.

But when they were to the place y-brought,
To telle shortly the conclusioún,
They wold incense or sacrifice right nought,
But on their knees they setten them adoun,
With humble hert and sad devocioún,
And leften bothe their heedes in the place;
Their soules wenten to the king of grace.

This Maximus, that saw this thing betyde,
With piteous teeres tolde it anon right,
That he their soules saw to heven glyde
With aungels, ful of clerness and of light;
And with his word converted many a wight.
For which Almachius hath hys body torn
With whippes of lead til he hys lif hath lorn.

Cecilie him took, and buried him anon
By Tiburce and Valirian softely,
Withinne her berieng place, under the stone.
And after this Almachius hastily
Bad his ministres fetchen openly
Cecilie, so that she might in his presence
Do sacrifice, and Jupiter incense.

But they, converted by her wise lore,
Wepten ful sore, and gaven ful credénce
Unto her word, and cryden more and more;
“Crist, Goddes sone, withouten difference,
Is very God, this is al oure sentence,
That hath so good a servaunt him to serve;
Thus with one vois we trowen, though we sterve.”

Almachius, that herd of this doynge,
Bad fetchen Cecilie, that he might her see,
And at the first, lo, this was his axinge;
“What maner womman art thou then?” quoth he.
“I am a gentil-womman born,” quoth she.
“I axe thee,” quoth he, “though thee it greve,
Of thi religioún and of thi byleve.”

“Ye have bygonne your questioun foolishly,”
Quoth she, “that wolden two answers conclude
In one demaunde; ye axen ignorantly.”
Almache answerde to that similitude,
“Of whens then cometh thin answering so rude?”
“Of whens?” quoth she, when she was constreyned,
“Of conscience, and of good faith unfeyned.”

Almachius sayde, “Takest thou then no heede
Of my powér ?” and she answerede him this;
“Youre might,” quoth she, “ful litel is to drede;
For every mortal mannes power is
But lyk a bladder ful of wynd, I wis;
For with a nedels poynt, when it is blown,
May al the boast of it be layd adoun.”

“Ful wrongfully byganne thou,” quoth he,
“And yet in wrong is thy perséveraúnce.
Knowest thou not oure mighty princes free
Have thus comaunded and made ordinaunce,
That every cristen wight shal pay penaunce,
Save that he his Cristendom withsay,
And go al quyt, if he wil it deneye?”

“Youre princes erre, and eek youre nobles doth,”
Quoth then Cecilie; “and with a mad sentence
Ye make us guilty, and it is nought sooth;
For ye that knowen wel oure innocence,
Forásmoche as we do ay reverence
To Crist, and for we bere a Cristen name,
Ye putten on us a cryme and eek a blame.

“But we that knowen Cristes name so
For vertuous, we may it not withseye.”
Almache sayde, “Choose one of these two,
Do sacrifice or Cristendom deneye,
That thou may now escapen by that weye.”
At which the holy blisful faire mayde
Gan for to laughe, and to the judge sayde;

“O judge confusèd in this great follý,
Wilt thou that I deny my innocence?
To make me a wikked wight,” quoth she.
“Lo, he dissimuleth here in audience,
He starith and is mad in his sentence.”
To whom Almachius sayde, “Unholy wretche,
Knowest thou nought how far my might may stretche?