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So Jonas then he was aſhamed,
Becauſe he was not fl ting free,
Of all the faults ſhe had him blamed,
He left the wife and let her be.
Saint Thomas then I counſel thee,
Go ſpeak unto this wicked wife,
She ſhames us all, and as for me,
Her like I never heard in life.
Thomas then ſaid you make ſuch ſtrife:
When you are out and meik'e din,
If ye were here I'll lay my life,
No peace the ſaints will get within:
It is your trade to be ſlyting,
As one who in a fever raves,
No marvel though you wives be biting,
Your tongues were made of aſpen leaves.
Thomas, quoth ſhe let be your taunts
You play the pick-thank I perceive
Though you be brothered among the ſaints.
An unbelieving heart you have:
You brought the Lord unto the grave,
But would no more with him remain,
And were the laſt of all the lave,
That did believe he roſe again.
There might no doctrine do thee good,
Nor miracles make thee confide,
Till thou beheld Chriſt's wounds and blood,
And put thy hand into his ſide.
Didſt thou not daily with him bide,
And ſee the wonders which he wrought,
But bleſt are they who do confide,

And do believe, yet ſaw him nought.