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;