The Wife of Beith Reformed and Corrected

by Anonymous

For other versions of this work, see The Wife of Beith.

THE

WIFE OF BEITH

Reformed and Corrected.

Giving an Account of her Death, and of her
Journey to Heaven: how on the road she
fell in with Judas, who carried her to the
Gate of Hell, and what conversation she
had with The DEVIL, who would not let
her in.

 

ALSO,

 

How at last she got to heaven,
and the difficulties she encounter’d before
she got admittance there.

 

The whole being an allegorical Dialogue,
containing nothing but that which is
recorded in Scripture for our
example.

 

 

STIRLING:
Printed and Sold by M. Randall

THE

WIFE OF BEITH

---

IN Beith once dwelt a worthy wife,
Of whom brave Chaucer mention makes,
She lived a licentious life,
And namely in venereal acts,
But death did come for all her cracks,
When years were spent and days out-driven,
Then suddenly the sekness takes,
Deceas'd forthwith, and went to heaven
But as she went upon the way,
There followed her a certain guide,
And kindly he to her did say,
Where means you dame for to abide?
I know you are the Wife of Beith,
And would not them that you go wrong,
For I'm your friend, and will be leath
That you go through this narrow throng,
This way it broadeir; go with me,
And very pleasant is the way:
I'll bring you there, where you would be,
Come with me, friend, say me not nay.
She look'd on him and then did speer,
I pray you, Sir what is your name;
Show me the way how you came here,
To tell to me it is no shame,
Is that a favour 'bout your neck;
Or what is that upon your side?
It is a bag, or silver sack?
What are you then? Where do you dide?
I was a servant unto Christ,
And Judas likewise is my name.
I know you by your colour first,
Forsooth indeed you are to blame;
Your master did not you betray?
And hang yourself when you had done.
Where'er you bide I will not stay,
Go then, you knave, let me alone.
Whate'er I be ⟨I'll be⟩ your guide,
Because you know not well the way;
Will ye but once in me conside,
I'll do all friendship that I may
What would you me Where do you dwell?
I have no will to go with thee;
I fear it is some lower cell,
I pray thee therefore let me be.
This is a stormy night and cold,
I'll bring you to a warm inn;
Will ye go forward and be bold,
And mend your pace till we win in.
I fear your inn will be to warm,
For too much hotness is not best:
Such hotness there may do me harm,
And keep me that I do not rest.
I know my way it is to hell,
For you are none of the eleven:
Go haste you then unto your cell,
My way is only unto heaven,
Thy way is by the gates of hell,
If you intend there for to go,
Go dame, I will not you compel,
But I with you will go also.
Then down they went a right steep hill
Where smoke and darkness did abound,
And pitch and sulphur burned still;
With yells and cries hills did rebound,
The fiend himself came to the gate.
And asked him where he had been?
Do ye not know or have forgot,
Seeking thes wife could not be seen.
Good dame, he said, would you be here,
I pray you then tell me your name?
The wife of Beith, since that youspier.
But to come in I were to blame.
I will not have you here, good dame,
For you are mistress of the flyting;
If once within this gate you come,
I will be troubled with your biting:
Cummer go back and let me be,
Here are too many of your rout,
For woman lewd like unto thee,
I canot turn my foot abut.
Sir Thief she says, I shall bide out,
But gossip thou wast ne'er to me,
For to come in I'm not so stout,
And of my biting thou'st be free.
But Lucifer what's that on thee?
Hast thou no water in this place?
Thou look'st so black, it seems to me
Thou ne'er dost wash they ugly face.
If we had water here to drink,
We would not care for washing them;
Into those flames and filthy stink
We burn with fire unto the doom.
Unbraid me then, goodwife, no more,
For first when I heard of my name,
I know thou hadst such words in store,
Would make the devil to think shame
Forsooth, Sir Thief you are to blame,
If I had time now to abide.
Once you were well, but my think shame,
That lost heaven for rebellious pride:
Who, traiter like, fell with the rest,
Because you would not be contnt;
Bnd now of bliss are dispossest,
Without all grace for to repent;
Thou mad'st poor Eve long since consent
Toest of the forbeden tree;
When we her daughters, may repent)
(And make us always like to thee;
But God be blest, who pass'd thee by,
And did a Saviour provide
For Adam's whole posterity,
All those who do in him conside.
Adieu false fiend, I may nat longer stay,
With thee I may not longer stay,
My God in death he is my guide,
O'er hell I'll get the victory
Then up the hill the poor wife went,
Opprest with stinking flames and fear,
Weeping right fore with great relent,
For to go else she wist not where
A narrow road with thorns and briars,
And full of mires was her before;
She sighed oft with sobs and tears,
The poor wife's heart was wond'rous sore.
Tir'd and torn she went on still,
Sometimes she sat and sometimes fell,
Ay till she came to a high hill,
And then she lookd back to hell'
When she had climbed up the hill,
Before her was a goodly plain,
Where she did rest and weep her fill;
Then rose and to her feet again,
Her heart was glad the way was good,
Up to the hill she hied with haste;
The flowers were peasent to her taste.
Then she behold Jerusalem,
On Sion's mount were that it stood;
Shining with bright gold as the sun,
Her silly soul was very glad,
The ports of orient pearls bright,
Were very glorios to behold,
The prcious stone gave a pure light,
The walls were of transparent gold.
High were the walls, the gate were shut,
And long she fought for to be in;
But then for seare of biding out,
She knocked hard and made some din,
To knock and cry she did not spare,
Till father Adam did her hare:
Who it's that raps so rudley there,
Heaven cannot well be won by weir.
The Wife of Beith, since that you spier,
Hath stood thise two hours at gate:
Go back, quoth he, thou must forbear,
Here may no sinners entrance get,
Adam quoth, she, I shall be in,
In spite of all such churls as ther,
Thour't the original of all sin,
For eating of the forbidden tree;
For which thou art not flyting free,
But for thy soul offences fled.
Adam went back and let her be,
Looking as if his nose had bled.
Then Mother Eve did at him speer
Who was it there that made such din?
He said a woman would be here;
For me I durst not let her in.
I'll go said they and ask her will
Her company I would have sain.
But aye she cried and knocked still
And is no ways she would refrain.
Daughter. said Eve, you will do will
To come again another time:
Heaven's not won by sword nor steel,
Nor none that's guilty of a crime.
Mother said she, the fault is thine
That knocking here so long I stand;
Thy guilt is more than that of mine'
If thou wilt rightly understand,
Thou wast the cause of all our sin
Wherein we were born and conceived,
Our misery did first begin;
By thee thy husband was deceived.
Eve went back where Noah was,
And told him how she was blam'd
Of her great sin and first trespass,
Whereof she was so much asham'd.
Then Noah said, I will go down
And will forbid her that she knock.
Go back he said, you drunken lown,
You're none of the celestial flock.
Noah, she said, hold thou thy peace,
Where I drank ale thou didst drink wine
Discover'd was to the disgrace
When thou wast drunken like a swine:
If I did drink I learn'd at thee,
For thour't the father and the first
That other's taught, and likewise me,
To drink although we had no thirst.
Then Noah turned back with speed,
And told the patriarch Abraham then,
How that the carling made him dread,
And how she all his deeds did ken,
Abra'am then said Now get ye gone
Let us hear no more of your din,
No lying wife as I suppone,
May enter here these gates within.
A bram, she said will ye but spare,
⟨I⟩ hope you are not flyting free;
You of yourself had such a care,
Denied your wife and made a lie.
O then I pray you let me be,
for I repent of all my sin,
Do thou but ope the gates to me,
And let me quietly come in,
Abra'am went back to Jacob ⟨then⟩,
And told his nephew how he sped,
sow that of her he nothing wan,
and that he thought the carling mad.
Then down came Jacob tho' the close,
And said Go backward down to hell.
Jacob, quoth she, I know thy voice,
That gate pretains unto thysel;
Of thy old trumperies I can tell,
Thou with two sisters led'st thy life,
And the third part of the tribes twelve
Thou didst get with maids besides thy wife
And stole thy father's benison,
Only by fraud they father frae;
Gave thou not him for venison
A baken kid, instead of rae.
Jacob himself was tickled so,
He went to Lot where he was lying,
And to the prayed him to go,
To staunch the carling of her crying.
Lot says, Fair dame make less ado,
And come again another day,
Old harlot carl, and drunkard too,
Thou with thine own two daughters lay,
Of thine untimely feed I say,
Proceeded never good but ill.
Poor Lot for shame then stole away,
And left the wife to clack her fill.
Meek Moses then went down at last,
To pacify the carling then;
Now dame, said he, knock not so fast.
Your knoking will not let you in.
Good Sir, she said, I am aghast,
Whene'er I look you in the face;
If your law until now did last,
Then surely I had ne'er got grate.
But Moses, Sir, now by your leave,
Although of heaven ye're possest,
For all you saw did not believe,
But you in Horeb once transgrest,
Wherefore by all it is confest,
You got but up the land to see,
And in the mount was put to rest,
Yea buried there, were you did die.
Moses meekly turned back,
And told his brother Aaron there.
How the old carling did so crack,
And in no ways did him forbear;
Then Aaron said, I will not sware,
But I'll conjure her as I can
And I will make her to forbear,
So that she shall not rap again.
Then Aaron said, You whorish wife,
Go get you gone and rap no more;
With idols you have led your life,
Therefore you shall repent it sore.
Good Aaron priest, I know you well,
The goldon calf you may remember,
Which made the people plauges to see;
This is of you recorded ever,
Your priesthood now is nothing worth,
Christ is my only priest, and he,
My Lord, that will not keep me forth,
⟨So⟩ I'll get in in spite of thee.
Up started Samsom at the last,
⟨Unto⟩ the gate apace came he,
⟨To⟩ drive away the wise with strength,
⟨But⟩ at all in vain, it would not de,
Samson, quoth she, the world my see
Thou was't a judge that prov'd unjust.
Those precious gists which God gave thee,
Thou lost by thy licentious lust.
From Delilah thy wicked wife,
Thy secrets chief could not contain
She daily fought to take thy life,
Thou lost thy lock and then was slain,
Though thou wast strong it was in vain;
Haunting with harlots here and there,
Then Samson turned back again,
And with the wife would mell nae mair,
Then said king David knock nae mair,
We are all troubled with your cry.
David, said she, how cam'st thou there
Thou might'st bide out as well as I:
Thy deeds no ways thou canst deny,
Is not thy sin far worse than mine,
Who with Uriah's wife did lie,
And cause him to be murder'd syne.
Then Judith said, Who's there that knocks
And to our neighbours gives these notes?
Madam, she said, let be your mocks,
I am not heare for cutting throats;
I am a sinner full of blots,
Yet through Christ's blood I shall be cleanː
If you and I be judg'd by votes,
The thing you did was worse than mine,
Then said the sapient Solomon,
Thou art a sinner all man say,
There our Saviour I suppone,
Thee heavenly entrance with deny
Mind, quoth she, thy latter days,
What idol gods thou didst upset;
And wast so lewd in Venus plys,
Thou didst thy Maker quite forget.
Then Jonas said, Fair dame, content you
If you intend to come to grace,
You must dree penance and repent you,
Ere you can come within this place
Jonas, quoth she, how stands the case,
How come you here to be with Christ,
How dare you look him in the face
Considering how you broke your tryst.
To God's errand thou withstood'st him,
And held'st his counsel in disdain,
The corby messenger thou play'd him,
And brought no message back again;
With mercy thou wast not content,
When God the Ninevites did spare,
Although the city did repent,
It grieved thee. thy heart was fair.
Let me alone and speak no more,
Go back a again unto the whale,
But now my heart is also sore,
But yet I hope I shall prevail.
Good Jonas said, Crack on your fill
For here I may no longer tarry,
Yet knock as long as e'er you will,
And into a ⟨fiery⟩ farry.
Jonas she says ye do miscarry
As I have done in former time;
You're not Saint Peter nor Saint Mary,
Your blot's as black as ever mine.
So Jonas then 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 you were here I'll lay my life
No peace the saints would get within.
It is your trade still to be flyting,
As one that in a fever ⟨raves⟩;
No marvel though you ⟨wives⟩ be biting,
Your tongues were made of aspen leaves.
Thomas, quoth she, let be your taunts,
You play the pick thank I preceive,
Though you be brother'd mong the saints,
An unbelieving heart you have;
You bring the Lord unto his grave,
But would no more with him remain,
And were the last of all the lave,
That did believe he rose again.
There might no doctrine do thee good,
Nor miracles made thee conside.
Till thou beheld Christ's wounds and blood
And put thy hand into his side.
Didst thou not daily with him bide,
And see the wonders which he wrought;
But blest are they who do conside,
And do believe, yet saw him nought.
Thomas, she says, will ye but spier,
Is that my sister Magdalene,
Will come to me if she be here?
For comfort sure ye gie me nane.
He was so blythe he turned back,
And thanked God that he was gone,
He had no will to hear her crack,
But told it Mary Magdalene.
When that she heard her sister's mocks
She went unto the gate with speed,
And asked her Who's there that knocks?
'Tis I, the Wife of Beith indeed,
She said, good mistress you must stand,
Till you be tried by tribulation.
Sister quoth she, give me your hand,
Are we not both of one vocation?
It is not through your occupation
That you are placed so divine;
My faith is fixed on Christ's passion,
My soul shall be as safe as thine.
Then Mary went away in haste,
The carlin made her so asham'd,
She had no will of such a guest,
To lose her pains and so be blam'd,
Now good St Paul, said Magdalene,
Because you are a learned man,
Go and convince this woman then,
For I have done all that I can;
Sure if she were in hell I doubt
They would not keep her longer there,
But to the gate would put her out,
And send her back to be elsewhere.
Then went the good apostle Paul,
To put the wife in better tune
Wash off the guilt that files thy soul,
Heaven's gates shall then be open'd soon.
Remember Paul, what thou hast done,
For all th' epistles thou didst compile,
Though now thou sittest up aboon,
Thou persecuted Christ a while.
Woman, he said, thou art not right,
That which I did I did not know;
But thou didst sin with all thy might,
Although the preachers did thee shew
Saint Paul, she said, it is not so,
I did not know so will as you?
But I will to my Saviour go,
Who will his favour shew to me,
You think you are of flyting free,
Because thou art wrapt up above;
But yet it was Christ's grace to thee,
And matchlessness of his dear love
Then Paul she said let Peter come,
It he be lying let him arise,
To him I will confess my sin,
And let him quikly bring the keys
Too long I stand he'd let me in,
For why I cannot longer tarry
Then shall ye all be quiet of din,
For I most speak with good Saint Mary,
The good apostle discontent
Right suddenly did turn back,
For he did very much repent,
To hear the carlin proudly crack.
But at the last the Lord arose,
Environed with angels bright,
And to the wife in haste he goes,
Desir'd her to pass out of sight,
O Lord, quoth she, cause do me right,
But not according to my sin,
Have you not promis'd day and night
When sinners knock to let them in?
He said, thou wrests the scripture wrong,
The night is come, thou spent'st the day,
In whoredom thou hast lived long,
And to repent thou didst delay.
Still my commandments thou abus'd
And vice committed busily;
Since now my mercy thou resus'd,
Go down to hell eternally.
O Lord, my soul doth testify
That I have spent my life in vain,
And made a wandering sheep of me,
And bring me to thy flock again.
Think'st thou there is no court to crave
Of all thise gifts in thee was planted,
I gave thee beauty bove the lave,
A pregnant wit thou never wanted.
Master, quoth she, it must be granted,
My sins are great—grant me contrition,
The forlorn son when he repented,
Obtain'd his father's full remission.
I spar'd my judgments many times,
And spiritual pastors did thee send,
But thou renew'd thy former crimes,
Aye more and more to offend,
Thou mightest then have turned wrath,
To mercy then, and mercy got,
But now the Lord is very loath,
And all thy cries not worth a jot.
Ah Peter then what shall I do,
He will not hear me, as I fear,
Shall I despair of mercy too,
No, no, I'll trust in mercy dear,
And if I perish, here I'll stay,
And never go from heaven bright,
I'll ever hope and always pray,
Until I get my Saviour's sight.
I think indeed now you are right,
If ye had faith ye would win in;
Importune then with all your might,
Faith is the feet where with ye come,
It is the hands will hold him fast:
But weak faith never may presume,
'Twill let you sink, and be aghast,
Strongly believe, or you're undone.
But good St Peter let me be.
Had you such faith? did it abound
When you did walk upon the sea,
Were you not likely to be drown'd?
Had not your Saviour helped thee,
Who came and took thee by the hand,
So can my Lord do unto me,
And bring me to the promis'd land.
Is my faith weak? yet he is still
The same, and ever shall remain;
His mercies last, and his good-will
To bring me to his flock again;
He will me help, and me relieve,
And will increase my faith also,
If weakly I can but believe,
But from this place I'll never go.
But Peter said, How can that be,
How dar'st thou look him in the face?
Such horrid sinners even as thee,
Can have no courage to get grace.
Here none come in but they that's stout,
And suffer'd have for the good cause,
Like unto thee are keeped out,
For thou hast broke all Moses' laws
Peter, she said, I do appeal,
From Moses and from thee also,
With him and you I'll not prevail,
But to my Saviour I will go.
Indeed of old you were right stout,
When you did cut off Malchus' ear,
But after that ye went about,
And a poor maiden did you fear.
Take home the whissel of your groat,
Was it your own or Paul's good sword,
When that your courage was so keen,
You were right stout upon my word,
When you would fain at fishing been,
For ere the crowing of the cock,
You did deny your master thrice,
For all your stoutness turn'd a block,
Now slyte no more if you be wise.
Paul says, good brother now arise,
And make an end of all this din,
And if so be ye have the keys,
Open and let the carlin in.
The Apostle Peter rose at last.
And to the gate with speed he hies,
Carlin quoth he, knock not so fast
Yon cumber Mary with your cries.
Peter she said let Christ arise
And grant me mercy in my need,
For why I ne'er denied him thrice,
As thou thyself hast done indeed.
Thou carlin bold, what's that to thee
I got remission for my sin,
It cost many sad tears to me
Because I enter'd here within,
It will not be thy meikle din,
Will cause heaven's gates opned be;
Thou must be purified from sin,
And of all trespasses made free.
Saint Peter then no thanks to you,
That so you were rid of your fears,
It was Christ's gracious look I trow.
That made you weep those precious tears,
The door of mercy is not clos'd.
I may get grace as well as ye;
It is not so fare as ye suppos'd,
I will be in in spite of thee.
But wicked wise it is too late,
Thou should'st have mourned upon death
Repentance now is out of date,
It should have been before thy death.
My Lord, quoth she, I do amend,
Lamenting for my former vice,
The poor thief at the latter end,
For one word went to paradise,
The thief heard never of my teachings,
My heavenly precepts or my laws,
But thou was daily at my preachings,
Both heard and law, and yet misknews.
Master, quoth she the scripture shews
The Jewish woman who played the loon,
Conform unto the Hebrew laws,
Wa brought to thee to be put down.
But nevertheless thou let her go,
And made the Pharisees afraid.
Indeed says Christ it was right so,
And that my bidding was obey’d.
Woman, said he, I may not cast
The childrens bread to dogs like thee.
Although my mercies still do last,
There’s mercy here, but none for thee.
But, loving Lord may I presume,
Poor worm I am, to speak again,
The dogs for hunger were undone,
And of the crumbs they were right fain,
Grant me one crumb that then doth fall
From the blest childrens table, Lord,
Thar I may be refresh’d withal,
It will me help enough afford.
The gates of mercy now are clos’d,
And thou canst hardly enter in;
It is not so as ye suppos’d
For thou art deadly sick in sin,
'Tis true indeed my lord most meek,
My sore and sickness I do feel;
Yet thou the same did truly seek,
Who lay long at Bethseda's pool,
Of many that thee never sought,
Such as the poor Samaritan,
Whom thou into thy sold has brought,
Even as thou did the widow of Nain,
Most gracious God, didst thou not bid
All that were weary come to thee?
Behold I come, even overload,
With sin; have mercy upon me.
The issues of thy soul are great,
Thou art both leprous and unclean,
To be with me thou art unfit,
Go from me then, let me alone,
Let me thy garments once but touch,
My bloody issue shall be whole,
It will not cost thee very much
To save a poor distressed soul.
Speak thou the word, I shall be whole,
One look of thee shall do me good,
Save now, good Lord, my silly soul,
Bought with thine own most precious blood
Let me alone, none of my blood
Was ever shed for such as thee,
It was my mercy, patience good,
Which from damnation made thee free.
It is contest thou hadst been just
Although thou hadst condemned me,
But O thy mercies still do last,
To save the soul that trusts in thee.
Let me not then condemned be,
Most humbly, Lord I thee request,
Of sinners all, none like to me,
So much the more thy praise shall last.
Thy praising me is not persite,
My saints shall praise me evermore,
⟨In⟩ sinners I have no delight,
Such sacrifice I do abhor.
Then she unto the Lord did say,
At footstool of thy grace I'll lie.
Sweet Lord my God, say me not nay,
For if I perish here I'll lie.
Poor silly woman, say no more,
Thy faith, poor soul, hath saved thee,
Enter thou into thy glore,
And rest through all eternity.
How soon our Saviour these words said,
A long white robe to her was given,
And then the angels did her lead
Forthwith within the gates of heaven.
A laurel crown set on her head,
Spangled with rubies and with gold;
A bright white palm she also had,
Glorious it was for to behold;
Her face did shine like to the sun,
Like threads of gold her hair hung down,
Her eyes like lamps unto the moon,
Of precious stones rich was her crown,
Angels and saints did welcome her,
The heavenly quoir did sing, Rejoice!
King David with his harp was there,
The silver bells made a great noise.
Such music and such melody
Was never either heard or seen;
When this poor saint was placed on high,
And of all sins made freely clean;
And then when thus she was possest,
And looked back on all her fears,
And that she was come to her rest,
Freed from her sins and all her tears:
She from her head did take the crown,
Giving all praise to Christ on high,
And at his feet she laid it down,
Because the Lamb had made her free.
Now she doth sing for evermore,
And shall rejoice triumphantly,
With lasting pleasures laid in store,
O er death and hell victoriously.

FINIS.

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