Quhen all your trade is at a stand,
And cunyie clene forsaiks the land,

Quhilk will be very sune,
Will priests without thair stypands preich ?
For noucht will lawyers causes streich ?

Faith that's nae easy dune.
All this, and mair, maun cum to pass,

To cleir your glomourit sicht;
And Scotland maun be made an ass,

To set hir judgment richt.
They'l jade hir, and blad hir,

Uutil scho brak hir tether,
Thoch auld schois, yit bauld schois,

And teuch lyke barkit lether.

But mony a corss sall braithless ly,
And wae sall mony a widow cry,

Or all rin richt again;
Owr Cheviot prancing proudly North,
The faes sall tak’ the field near Forth,

And think the day their ain :
But burns that day sall ryn with blude

Of them that now oppress;
Their carcasses be corbys fude,

By thousands on the gress. A King then sall ring then,

Of wyse renoun and braif, Qubase puisans and sapiens,

Sall richt restoir and saif.

The view of freidomis sweit, quod I,
O say, grit Tennent of the skye,

How neiris that happie tyme ?
We ken things but be circumstans :
Nae mair, quod he, I may advance,

Lest I commit a cryme.

Quhat eir ye plees, gae on, quod I,

I sall not fash ye moir, Say how, and quhar ye met, and quhy,

As ye did hint befoir. With air then sae fair then,

That glanst like rais of glory, Sae godlyk and oddlyk

He thus resumit his storie.

Frae the sun's rysing to his sett,
All the pryme rait of Wardens met,

In solemn bricht array,
With vehicles of aither cleir;
Sic we put on quhen we appeir

To sauls rowit up in clay;
Ther in a wyd and splendid hall,

Reird up with shynand beims, Quhais rufe-tries were of rain-bows all,

And paift with starrie gleims, Quhilk prinkled and twinkled

Brichtly beyont compair, Much famed and named

A CASTILL IN THE AYR.

In midst of quhilk a tabill stude,
A spacious oval, reid as blude,

Made of a fyre-flaucht,
Arround the dazeling walls were drawn,
With rays be a celestial hand,

Full mony a curious draucht. Inferiour beings flew in haist,

Without gyde or derectour, Millions of myles throch the wyld waist,

To bring in bowlis of nectar: Then roundly and soundly

We drank lyke Roman gods: Quhen Jove sae dois rove sae,

That Mars and Bacchus nods.

Quhen Phebus' heid turns licht as cork, And Neptune leans upon his fork,

And limpand Vulcan blethers: Quhen Pluto glowrs as he were wyld, And Cupid, luves wce wingit chyld,

Fals down and fyls his fethers. Quhen Pan forgets to tune his reid,

And flings it cairless bye, And Hermes, wing'd at heils and heid,

Can nowther stand nor lye: Quhen staggirand and swaggirand,

They stoyter hame to sleip, Quhyle centeries and enteries

Immortall watches keip.

Thus we tuke in the hich brown liquor, And bang about the nectar biquor;

But evir with this ods, We neir in drink our judgments drensch, Nor scour about to seik a wensch,

Lyk these auld baudy gods; But franklie at ilk uther ask,

Quhat's proper we suld know,
How ilk ane has performit the task,

Assign'd to him below.
Our mynd then, sae kynd then,

Is fixt upon our care,
Ay noting and ploting

Quhat tends to thair weilfair.

1

Gothus and Vandall baith lukt bluff,
Quhyle Gallus sneer'd and tuke a snufl,

Quhilk made Allmane to stare;
Latinus bad him naithing feir,
But lend his hand to haly weir,

And of cowd crouns tak' care;

Batavius with his paddock-face

Luking asquint, cry'd, Pisch!
Your monks are void of sence or grace,

I had leur ficht for fisch;
Your schule-men ar fule-men,

Carvit out for dull debates, Decoying and destroying

Baith monarchies and states.

Iberius with a gurlie nod
Cry'd, Hogan, yes, we ken your God,

Its herrings ye adore.
Heptarchus, as he us’d to be,
Can nocht with his ain thochts agre,

But varies bak and fore;
Ane quhile he says, It is not richt

A Monarch to resist;
Neist braif all ryal pouir will slight,

And passive homage jest:
He hitches and fitches

Betwein the hic and hoc, Ay jieand and fleand

Round lyk a wejder-cock.

I still support my precedens
Abune them all, for sword and sens,

Thoch I haif layn richt lown,
Quhilk was, becaus I bure a grudg
At sum fule Scotis, quha lyk'd to drudg

To princes no thair awin;
Sum Thanis thair tennants pykit and squeist,

And pursit up all thair rent,
Syne wallopit to far courts, and bleist,

Till riggs and schaws war spent;
Syne bynding, and whynding,

Quhen thus redusit to howps, They dander and wander

About, puire lickmadowps,

But now its tyme for me to draw
My shynand sword against club-law,

And gar my lyon roir;
He sall or lang gie sic a sound,
The eccho sall be heard around

Europe frae schore to schore;
Then let them gadder all thair strength,

And stryve to wyrk my fall, Thoch numerous, yit at the length

I will owrcum them all, And raise yit and blase yit

My braitrie and repown, By gracing and placing Aright the Scottis crown.

Quhen my braif Bruce the same sall weir
Upon his ryal heid, full cleir,

The diadem will shyne;
Then sall your sair oppression ceis,
His intrest yours he will not fleice,

Or leif you eir inclyne:
Thoch millions to his purse be lent,

Ye'll neir the puirer be,
But rather richer, quhyle its spent

Within the Scottish se:
The field then sall yield then

To honest husband's welth, Gude laws then sall cause then

A sickly state haif helth.

Quhyle thus he talkit, methocht ther came
A wondir fair etherial dame,

And to our Warden say'd,
Grit Callydon I cum in serch
Of you, frae the hich starry arch

The councill wants your aid;