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 far to be flyting,
Still in a fever as one raves,
No marvel though you wives be biting,
Your tongues are made of aspen leaves.