But thou was daily at my preachings, Both heard and saw, and yet miskaws. Master, quoth she, the scriptures shows, The Jewish woman which play’d the lown, Conform unto the Hebrew laws, Was brought to thee to be put down, But nevertheless thou lett’st her go, And made the Pharisees afraid. Indeed, says Christ it was right so, And that my bidding was obey’d, Woman, he said, I may not cast The childrens’ bread to dogs like Although my mercies yet do last, There’s mercy here but none for thee. But, loving Lord, may I presume Poor worm, that I may speak again, The dogs for hunger were undone, And of the crumbs they were right fain, Grant me one crumb then that did fall From thy best childrens’ table, Lord, That I may be refreshed withal, It will not help enough afford. The gates of mercy now are closed, And thou canst hardly enter in It is not so as thou supposed, For thou art deadly sick in sin. ’Tis true indeed, my Lord most meek My sore and sickness I do feel: Yet thou the lame didst truly seek, Who lay long at Bethseda’s pool, Of many that thee never sought, Like to the poor Samaritan, Whom thou unto thy fold has brought, Even as thou didst the widow of Nain Most gracious God, didst thou not bid All that were weary come to thee, Behold, I come! even overload With sin, have mercy upon me. The issues of thy soul are great, Thou art both leprous and unclean, To be with me thou art not fit, Go from me then, let me alone. Let me thy garments once but touch, My bloody issue shall be whole, It will not cost thee very much, To save a poor distressed soul, Speak thou the word, I shall be whole, One look of thee shall do me good, Save now, good Lord, my silly soul, Bought with thine own most precious blood Sweet Lord my God, say me not nay, For if I perish here I’ll die. Poor silly wretch, then speak no more, Thy faith, poor soul, hath saved thee; Enter thou in unto my glore, And rest thro’ all eternity. How soon our Saviour these words said, A long white robe to her was given; And then the angels did her lead, Forthwith within the gates of heaven: A laurel crown set on her head, Spangled with rubies and with gold: A bright white palm she always had, Glorious it was for to behold; Her face did shine like to the sun, Like threads of gold her hair hang down, Her eyes like lamps unto the moon, Of precious stones rich was her crown. Angels and saints did welcome her, The heavenly choir did sing, rejoice; King David with his harp was there: The silver bells gave a great noise. Such music and such melody