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thy bloat's as black as e'er mine.
So Jonah then he was aſham'd,
becauſe he was not flyting free,
Of all his faults ſhe had him blam'd,
he left her then and let her be.
Saint Thomas I counſel thee,
go ſpeak unto this wicked wife,
She ſhames us all; and for me,
her like I never heard in life
Thomas then ſaid, you make ſuch ſtrife,
when you are out there meikle din,
If you were here, I'll lay my life
no peace the Saints would get within;
It is your trade to be flyting,
ſtill in a fever as one raves,
No marvel tho' you wives be biting,
your tongues were made of aſpen leaves.
Thomas, quoth ſhe, let be your Saints
you play the pick-thank I perceive,
Tho' thou be brother'd with the Saints,
an unbelieving heart you have;
You brought our LORD unto the grave,
but wouldſt no longer with him remain,
And was the laſt of all the lave,
that did believe he roſe again;
There might no doctrine do the good,
no miracles made thee confide,
Till thou beheld CHRIST's wounds & blood
and put'ſt thine hand into his ſide;
Didſt thou not daily with him dine,
and ſaw'ſt the miracles which he wrought?
But bleſt are they who do confide,
and do believe, but ſaw him nought.
Thomas, ſhe ſays, will ye but ſpier,
if that my ſiſter Magdalen,
Will come to me, if ſhe be here;
for comfort ſure ſhe'd give me more.
He was ſo blyth, and turned back,
and thanked GOD that he was gone,
