With flat felonious intentions;
Which he could bring out where he had, 435
And what he bought them for, and paid. 
His flea, his morpion, and punese,
H’ had gotten for his proper ease,
And all perfect minutes made,
By th’ ablest artist of the trade; 440
Which (he could prove it) since he lost,
He has been eaten up almost;
And all together might amount
To many hundreds on account;
For which h’ had got sufficient warrant 445
To seize the malefactors errant,
Without capacity of bail,
But of a cart’s or horse’s tail;
And did not doubt to bring the wretches
To serve for pendulums to watches; 450
Which, modern virtuosos say,
Incline to hanging every way. 
Beside, he swore, and swore ’twas true,
That, e’re he went in quest of you,
He set a figure to discover 455
If you were fled to Rye or Dover;
And found it clear, that, to betray
Yourselves and me, you fled this way;
And that he was upon pursuit,
To take you somewhere hereabout. 460
He vow’ d he had intelligence
Of all that past before and since;
And found that, e’er you came to him,. 
Y’ had been engaging life and limb
About a case of tender conscience, 465
Where both abounded in your own sense: 
Till Ralpho, by his light and grace,
Had clear’d all scruples in the case;
And prov’d that you might swear and own
Whatever’s by the wicked done, 470
For which, most basely to requite
The service of his gifts and light,
You strove to oblige him, by main force,
To scourge his ribs instead of yours;
But that he stood upon his guard, 475
And all your vapouring out-dar’d;
For which, between you both, the feat
Has never been perform’d as yet.

While thus the Lady talk’d, the Knight
Turn’d th’ outside of his eyes to white; 480
(As men of inward light are wont
To turn their opticks in upon ’t)
He wonder’d how she came to know
What he had done, and meant to do;
Held up his affidavit-hand, 485
As if h’ had been to be arraign’d;
Cast t’wards the door a look,
In dread of Sidrophel, and spoke: 

Madam, if but one word be true
Of all the Wizard has told you, 490
Or but one single circumstance
In all th’ apocryphal romance,
May dreadful earthquakes swallow down
This vessel, that is all your own;
Or may the heavens fall, and cover 495
These reliques of your constant lover.