Thou persecuted’st Christ a while. Woman, he said, thou art not right, That which I did, I did not know; But thou didst sin with all thy might, Although the preachers did thee show. Saint Paul, she said, it is not so I did not know so well as ye, But I will to my Saviour go, Who will his favour shew to me. You think you are of flyting free, Because you was rapt up above, But yet it was Christ’s grace to thee, And matchlessness of his dear love. Then Paul, says she, let Peter come, If he be lying let him rise, To him I will confess my sin, And let him quickly bring the keys, Too long I stand, he’ll let me in, For why I cannot longer tarry, Then shall ye all be quit of din, For I must speak with good saint Mary. Peter, said she, let Christ arise, And grant me mercy in my need; For why I ne’er deny’d him thrice, 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 gracious look, I trow, That made you weep those bitter tears. The door of mercy is not closed, I may get grace as well as ye, It is not so as ye supposed, I will be in in spite of thee. But wicked wife, it is too late, Thou should’st have mourn’d on earth, Repentance now is out of date: It should have been before thy death, Thou mightest then have turned wrath To mercy then, and mercy great, But now the Lord is very loth, And all thy cries not worth a jot. Ah! Peter, then, what shall I do? He will not hear me as I hear, Shall I despair of mercy too? No, no, I’ll trust in mercy dear; And if I perish, here I’ll stay And never go from heaven bright I’ll ever hope and always pray, Until I get my Saviour’s sight. I think indeed you are not right, If you had faith you could win in; Importune then with all your might, Faith is the feet wherewith ye come. It is the hands will hold him fast, But weak faith may not presume; ’Twill let you sink, and be aghast Strongly believe, or you’re undone. But, good saint Peter, let me be, Had you such faith, did it abound? When you did walk upon the sea, Was you not like for to be drown’d, Had not our Saviour helped thee, Who came and took thee by the hand, So can my Lord do unto me, And bring me to the promised land. Is my faith weak? yet he is still