Page:Wife of Beith (13).pdf/13

 Let me alone and speak no more, Go back again into the whale, For now my heart is also sore, But yet I hope I shall prevail. Good Jonas said, crack on your sill, For here I may no longer tarry, Yet knock as long as e'er ye will, And go unto the fiery fairy Jonas, she says, do ye miscarry, As I have done in former time, You're not saint Peter nor faint Marys, Thy blot's as black as ever mine. So Jonas then he was asham'd, Because he was not flyting free, Of all his faults she had him blam'd, He left the wife and let her be. Saint Thomas then, I counsel thee Go speak unto yon 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 meikle din, If ye were here I'll lay my life, No peace the saints will get within: It is your trade for to be flyting, Still in a fever as one raves, No marvel though you wives be biting, Your tongues are made of Aspen leaves. Thomas, quoth she, let be your taunts, You play the pick-thank I perceive, Tho' you be brother'd 'mong the saints, An unbeleving heart you have;