Then with a mighty voice cried out that fiend 1360
  Weighed down with torments, and this word he spake:—­
  “Long time, O Andrew, hast thou been well versed
  In arts of sorcery; thou hast deceived
  And led astray much people; but thou shalt
  No longer now have power upon such works,
  For grievous torments are decreed for thee
  According to thy deeds.  With weary heart,
  Joyless, degraded, thou shalt suffer woes,
  The bitter pangs of death.  My warriors
  Are ready for the battle; they will soon
  Deprive thee of thy life by valiant deeds. 1370
  What man on earth so mighty that he may
  Release thee from thy bonds, if I oppose?”

    Straightway did Andrew answer him again:—­
  “Almighty God with ease can rescue me
  From all my grief—­He who in days of yore
  Fettered thee fast with fiery chains in woe. 
  There, shorn of glory, bound with torments fierce,
  In exile hast thou dwelt e’er since the day 1380
  When thou didst set at naught the word of God,
  Of Heaven’s King; then did thy woe begin,
  And to thy exile there shall be no end;
  But thou shalt still heap up thy wretchedness
  To everlasting life, and evermore
  Thy lot shall grow yet harsher day by day.” 
  Then fled that fiend who in the years long past
  Began a deadly feud against his God.

    Then at the dawning, when the day first broke,
  A troop of heathens came to find the saint,
  A mighty throng, and gave command to lead 1390
  That valiant-hearted thane a third time forth. 
  They wished straightway to overcome the soul
  Of that bold saint—­but it was not to be. 
  Then was the battle stirred up once again,
  Cruel and very fierce.  The holy man,
  Bound fast with cunning skill, was sorely scourged,
  Pierced through with wounds, until the daylight failed;
  And, sad of heart, he cried aloud to God
  Bravely from prison with his holy voice;
  Weary of soul, he spake these words with tears:—­ 1400
  “Ne’er have I suffered by God’s holy will
  A lot more grievous under heaven’s vault,
  In lands where I have had to preach His law! 
  My limbs are wrenched apart, my body sore
  Is broken, and my flesh is stained with blood;
  My thews are torn and bloody.  Lo, Thou too,
  Ruler of victory, Redeeming Lord,
  Wast filled with grief among the Jews that day
  When from the cross, Thou, everlasting God,
  Glory of kings, creation’s mighty Lord, 1410
  Called to the Father, and thus spake to him :—­
  ’Father of angels, source of light and life,
  Oh why hast Thou forsaken me, I pray?’
  Torments most cruel I have had to bear
  For three long days.  I beg thee, Lord of hosts,
  That I may give my soul into Thy hands,
  Thy very hands, Thou Nourisher of souls! 
  For Thou didst promise by Thy holy word,