“Have nought our mighty princes to me y-given,
Yea bothe power and eek auctoritee
To make folk to deyen or to lyven?
Why spekest thou so proudly then to me?”
“I speke not but stedefastly,” quoth she,
“Nought proudly, for I say, as for my syde,
We haten deedly that same vice of pryde.

“And if thou drede nought a sooth to heere,
Then wil I shewe al openly by right,
That thou hast made a ful greet lying heere.
Thou saist, thy princes have i-give thee might
Bothe for to slay and make alive a wight,
Thou that canst not but only lif bereve,
Thou hast no other power nor no leve.

“But thou maist say, thi princes have thee makèd
Minister of deth: for if thou speke of mo,
Thou liest; for thy power is ful naked.”
“Do way thy ignorance,” sayd Almachius tho,
“And sacrifice to oure goddes, ere thou go.
I recke nought what wrong that thou me profre,
For I can suffre it as a philosóphre.

“But these wronges may I not endure,
That thou here spekist of oure gods,” quoth he.
Cecilie answered, “O nice créatúre,
Thou saydest no word since thou spake to me,
In which I knew not al thy great folie,
And that thou were in every maner wise
A silly officer, a vein justice.

“Ther lakketh no thing to thin outer eyne
That thou art blynd; for things that we see alle
That it is stone, that men may wel espien,
That same stone a god thou wilt it calle.
I axe the, let thin hond upon it falle,
And tast it wel, and stoon thou shalt it fynde;
Since that thou seest not with thin eyen blynde.

“It is a shame that the people shal
So scorne thee, and laughe at thy folýe;
For comunly men wot it one and al,
That mighty God is in his heven hye;
And these ymáges, wel thou mayst espie,
To thee nor to themself may nought profyte,
For in effect they be nought worth a myte.”

Thise wordes and such other then sayde she;
And he wax worth, and bad men shold hir lede
Hom to her hous; “And in her hous,” quoth he,
“Burne her right in a bath of flammes red,”
And as he bad, right so was don the dede;
For in a bath thay gonne her faste shut,
And nyght and day greet fire they under put.

The longe night, and eek a day also,
For al the fire, and eek the bathes hete,
She sat al cold, and felte of it no wo,
Hit made her not one drope for to swete.
But in that bath her deth she moste get;
For he Almachius, with ful wikked entente,
To slay hir in the bath his men he sente.

Three strokes in the nek he smote her tho
The tormentour, but for no maner chance
He might nought smyte her faire necke in two.
And for ther was that tyme an ordinaunce
That no man sholde do eny such penaúnce
The fourthe strok to smyten, softe or sore,
This tormentour ne durste do no more;

But half deed, with hir nek y-carven there,
He on hys way is gone and lete her lye.
The cristen folk, which that about her were,
With sheetes wrappèd have her faire bodye;
Thre dayes lyved she in this miserie,
And never cessèd them the faith to teche.
Al that she taughte them first, she gan to preche.

And them she gaf her welth and everything,
And in pope Urbans care she putte them tho,
And sayde thus, “I axe this of heven kyng,
To have respite thre dayes and no mo,
To recomende to you, ere that I go,
These soules lo, and that there mighte be
Heer in myn hous a chirche perpetuelly.”

Seynt Urban, with his dekenes privily
The body took and buried it by nighte
Among his other seyntes honestely.
Her hous the chirch of seynt Cecily yet highte;
Seynt Urban hallowed it, as he wel mighte;
In which into this day in noble wyse
Men do to Crist and to his seint servise.