Then up starts Peter at the last, 105
And to the gate he hies:
Fond fool, quoth he, knock not so fast,
Thou weariest Christ with cries.
Peter, said she, content thyselfe,
For mercye may be won, 110
I never did deny my Christ,
As thou thyselfe hast done.
When as our Saviour Christ heard this,
With heavenly angels bright,
He comes unto this sinful soul, 115
Who trembled at his sight.
Of him for mercye she did crave.
Quoth he, thou hast refus'd
My proffer'd grace, and mercy both,
And much my name abus'd. 120
Sore have I sinned, Lord, she sayd,
And spent my time in vaine,
But bring me like a wandring sheepe
Into thy flocke againe.
O Lord my God, I will amend 125
My former wicked vice:
The thief for one poor silly word,
Past into Paradise.
My lawes and my commandments,
Saith Christ, were known to thee; 130
But of the same in any wise,
Not yet one word did yee.
I grant the same, O Lord, quoth she;
Most lewdly did I live:
But yet the loving father did 135
His prodigal son forgive.
So I forgive thy soul, he sayd,
Through thy repenting crye;
Come enter then into my joy,
I will not thee denye. 140