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As thou thyself hast done indeed.
Thou carling bold, what's that to thee?
I got remission for my sin;
It cost many sad tears to me,
Before I entered here within.
It will not be thy meikle din
Will cause heaven's gates opened be,
Thou must be purified of sin,
And of all sins must be made free.
Saint Peter then, no thanks to you,
That so you were rid of your fears,
It was Christ's graeious look, I trow,
That made you weep those bitter tears.
The door of mercy is not elosed,
I may get graee as well as ye,
It is not so as ye supposed,
I will be in in spite of thee.
But wieked wife, it is too late,
Thou should'st have mourn'd on earth,
Repentance now is out of date:
It should have been before thy death,
Thou mightest then have turned wrath
To merey then, and mercy great,
But now the Lord is very loth,
And all thy eries not worth a jot.
Ah! Peter, then, what shall I do?
He will not hear me as I hear,
