{376} This mekill writtin and dytit befoir the resait of your letteris, whilk I resavit the 21st of June. They war unto my hart sum comfort for dyvers caussis not necessar to be rehersit, but maist (as knaweth God) for that I find ane congruence betwix ws in spreit, being sa fer distant in bodie. ffor when that digestlie I did avys with your letter, I did considder that I myself was complenyng evin the self sam thingis at that verie instant moment that I ressavit your letter. Be my pen ffrome a sorrowfull hart I culd not but brust forth and say, “O Lord, how wonderfull ar thi workis! how dois thou try and prufe thi chosin children as gold by the fyre! how canest thou in maner hyd thi face fra thy awn spous, that thi presence efter may be mair delectabill! how canest thou bring thi sainctis lowe, that thou may carie thame to glorie everlasting! how canest thou suffer thi strang faithful messingeris in many thingis yit to wressill with wreachit infirmitie and febill weaknes, ye and sumtymes permittis thou thame horribillie to fall, partlie that na flesche sall have whairof it may glorie befoir the, and partlie that utheris of smaller estait and meaner giftis in thi kyrk myght resave sum consolatioun, albeit thay find in thame selves wickit motions whilk they are not abill to expell!” My purpois was, befoir I ressavit your letter, to have exhortit you to pacience and to fast, adhering to Godis promisis, albeit that your flesche, the divill, and uther your enemyis, wald persuad you to the contrare; for, by the artis and subteliteis that the adversarie useth aganis me, I not only do conjecture, but also planelie dois sie your assaltis and trubill. And sa lykwys, in the bowellis of Chrystis mercie, maist ernistlie I beseik you, by that infirmitie that ye knaw remaineth in me, (wars I am than I can wryt,) pacientlie to beir, albeit that ye haif not sic perfection as ye wald, and albeit also your motionis be sic as be maist vyle and abominabill, yet not to sorrow abuf measure. Gif I to whom God hes gevin greatter giftis (I wryt to his prais) be yit sa wrappit into miserie, that what I wald I can not do, and what I wald not, that with sainct paule, I say, I daylie ye everie hour and moment I devys to do, and in my hart, ficht I never sa fast in the contrarie I perform and do,――gif sic wreachit wickitnes remane in Godis cheif ministeris, what wonder albeit the same remane in yow? Gif Godis strangest men of war be beattin bak in thair face, {377} that what thay wald they can not destroy nor kill, is it any sic offence to yow to be tossit as ye compleane, that thairfoir ye suld distrust Goddis frie promissis? God forbid, deir mother! the power of God is knawin be oure weaknes, and theis dolouris and infirmiteis be maist profitabill to ws; for by the same is our pryde beattin doun, whilk is not easie utherwayis to be done. By thame ar oure misereis knawn, sa that we, acknawledging oure selves misterfull, seikis the phesitioun.