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He will me help and me relieve,
And will increaſe my faith alfo;
If weakly I can but believe:
For from this place I'll never go.

But Peter ſaid, how can that be:
How dar'ſt thou look him in the face,
Sure horrid ſinners like to thee,
Can have no courage to get grace;
Here none comes in but they that's ſtout,
And ſuffer'd have for the good cauſe;
Like unto thee are keeped out,
For thou haſt broke all Moſes laws.

Peter ſhe ſaid, I do appeal,
From Mofes, and from thee alſo,
With him and you I'll not prevail,
But to my Saviour I will go:
Indeed of old you were right ſtout,
When you did cut off Malchus' ear;
But after that ye went about,
And a poor maiden did you fear,
Wherefore ſaint Peter do forbear,
A comforter indeed you're not;
Let me alone I do not fear,
Take home the wiffel of your groat:
Was it your own, or Paul's good ſword,
When that your courage was ſo keen,
You were right ſtout upon my word,
When you would fain at fiſhing been,
For ere the crowing of the cock,
You did deny your maſter thrice,
For all your ſtoutneſs turn'd a block;
Now flyte no more, if you be wiſe.