who worketh these miracles, and I will that ye bring
your tapers to me, and prostrate yourselves,
and I will grant you what you are desiring/
He thus blasphemed a long time with foolish words,
until he fell silenced, as if he were lifeless,
and they hare him straightway home to his bed.
He lay thus a long time, despairing of his life;
then at last his kinsmen carried the man
to Saint Swithhun, and he himself confessed
his foolish words, that he had presumptously spoken,
and entreated pardon from him, and thereon he was made whole,
so that he went home in health with his kinsmen.
It is likewise to wit, that men do unwisely
when they doltishly jest at dead men's corpses,
and introduce by their sport any licentiousness,
when they should rather sorrow for the dead,
and dread the coming of death for themselves,
and earnestly pray for his soul without [any] madness.
Some men also most unrighteously
drink the whole night at a lyke-wake,
and blaspheme God with their wanton speech,
whereas no beer-drinking is seemly at a wake,
but rather holy prayers are fitting there.
Once there came to the saint a hundred and twenty men,
diversely afflicted with many diseases,
and they were all wondrously healed
within three weeks, and returned home,
thanking Almighty God and the venerable Swithhun.
A certain thane's servant fell suddenly from his horse
so that his arm and left leg broke,
and he was so much crushed that they straightway thought
he would at once die right before them ;
he had previously been very dear to his lord,
and the lord greatly lamented for the servant,
and besought the Almighty from his inmost heart
