Proclamatioun
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IN loftie veirs I did reheirs,
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My drerie Lamentatioun
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And now allace, maist ceirful cace
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I mak my Proclamatioun.
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Desyring all, baith greit and small,
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That heiris me be Narratioun
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Not for to wyte, my rude Ind[y]te:
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Sen maid is Intimatioun.
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I do Intend, nane to offend,
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That feiris God arycht,
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Thocht murtherars, & blud sc[h]eddars,
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Wald haif me out of sycht.
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Thair malice vane, I do disd[a]ne,
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And curse thair subtell flycht,
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My name is knawin, thair bru[i]t is bla-win
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Abrode baith day and nycht.
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For I a wyfe with sempill lyfe,
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Dois wyn my meit ilk day,
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For small availl, ay selling ca[il],
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The best fassoun I may.
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Besyde the Throne, I wait u[p]one,
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My mercat but delay:
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Gif men thair walk, I heir t[h]air talk
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And beiris it weill away.
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In felloun feir, at me t[ha]y speir,
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Quhat tythands in this land
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Quhy sit I dum, and dar not mum?
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Oft tymes thay do demand,
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To thame agane, I answer p[l]ane,
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Quhair thay besyde me stand
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Na thing is [h]eir, bot mortalll weir,
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Wrocht be ane bailfull band.
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A wickit race of grumi[,s] but grace
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Of Kedyochis curst clan,
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Be tressoun vile, quha dois d[e]fyle,
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Thame self baith wyfe and man.
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As lait is sene, with weipin[g] Ene,
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Thairfoir I sall thame ban:
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Caus our Regent maist Inn[o]cent,
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That cursit seid over ran.
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Quhat cruelteis thay E[n]emeis,
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Hes wrocht be tymes past,
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I lat over slyde, I may not [by]de,
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Sa sair I am agast,
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Thair anterous actis, thair furious factis,
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Auld bukis quha will over ca[s]t,
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And men on live, can yit discr[i]ve
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Thair doings first and last.
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Thairfoir my Lords, as best accords
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Sen ye ar hapnit hidder,
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This I will say tuix sport and play
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My wordis weill considder,
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And ponder thame for your awin schame
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To mark thame be not lidder:
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Lat na mans feid, throw feirfull dreid,
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Your hartis mak to swidder.
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For I heir say, thay will display
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Thair baners on the feild:
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Thinkand but dout, to ruit yow out,
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Or cause yow seik sum b[eild]
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At thame, rycht fane, or [dout ye n]ane,
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That ganyell will thay yeild,
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Stand not abak (oh) febill pak,
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Bot swordis leir to weild.
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Defend your richt, in Goddis sicht
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Quhome of do ye stand aw?
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Rycht few I trow, will yow allow,
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Gif ye your selfis misknaw.
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Stand to thairfoir, fyle not the scoir,
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Bot all togidder draw,
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Not in Cat harrowis, lyke cankrit mar-rowis
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For feir of efter flaw.
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Do ye not se that mad meney,
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How thay ar waxin crous?
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To wirk yow tene, thai mak the Quene,
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Thair strenth and strang blokhous.
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The murther fy, thay do deny,
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And countis yow not ane sous,
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Thair proude pretence throw negligence
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Will be maist dangerous.
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To Lythquo toun, thay ar all boun
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Quhair thay the murther wrocht,
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And thinkis to de, or fortifie,
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Thair fellony forethocht.
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And trewlie I, can not espy,
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Quhat uther thing thay socht,
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Bot King put doun, & clame the Croun
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Be bludy murther bocht.
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I Pans and muse, how thay excuse
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This murther perpetrate,
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Or with quhat grace haldis up thair face
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Quhair it is nominate.
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Gif (as I trow) thay it allow,
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Lyke Wolfis Insatiate:
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Quha can repent, that thay be schent,
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With blude commaculate?
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Fall to thairfoir I yow Imploir,
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My Lords with ane assent,
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And think it lang, ay quhill ye fang,
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The feiris that did Invent
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This crueltie, be tyrannie,
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To sla our rycht Regent,
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For thay maist sure, dois still Indure
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With hartis Impenitent.
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That man in deid, is worth sum meid
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His fault that dois confes,
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Bot quhat rewarde suld be preparde,
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For him that dois transgres.
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And will not graunt, bot rather vaunt
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In his unhappynes,
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Maist sure the gallous, with all his fallous,
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For thair unthankfulnes.
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For gif self lufe, was from abufe,
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Dejectit out of hevin,
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Quhen Lucifer, wald be ane bar,
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To God and think him evin.
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Quhat sall we wene of tratours kene,
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That Ithandly hes strevin.
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For to deface the Nobill race,
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Of Stewarts od and evin.
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Considder weill, thair cankrit zeill
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Hes thristit mony day,
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For to posses but godlynes,
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The Crowne withouttin stay.
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As now of lait, thair curst consait,
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With murther thay display:
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Quhen thay thocht gude, to drink this blude
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Be that ungodly way.
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Bot Sathan sure, dois thame allure
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With wordis fals and vane:
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Ay promysing, thame to be King,
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Quhairof thay ar full fane.
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In Paradice he did Intice,
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Be subtell craft and trane,
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The man first maid, sa God hes said,
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In Sacrede Scripture plane.
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He said that he, suld equall be,
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To God Omnipotent,
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The Appill sweit, gif he wald eit,
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Quhairof was maid restraint.
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With small defence, he gaif credence
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Bot did he not repent?
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Quhen efterwart, he felt the smart,
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And God aganis him bent.
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Sa sall all thay, that dois this day
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With mischant mynde maling,
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Aganis the treuth but ony reuth
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And Crowning of our King.
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And this thay muse for thair behufe,
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To place thair awin offspring,
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But thay repent, thay will be schent,
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And hell at thair ending.
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Authoritie gif Just he be,
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Quhy do thay this Ill will him?
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His graitfull gide, throw pevische pride
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Allace quhy did thay kill him?
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Thair heid supreme in to this Realme
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Admit gif thay not will him
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Than ye my Lords, cut of with cords
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Thame will be troublous till him.
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Revenge this wrang, lat tratours hang
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Gods Lawis dois sa requyre,
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Lat Caleb eik, and Josue seik,
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The promysit Impyre.
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Thocht murmurars, and murtherars
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Wald all your deith conspyre:
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In wyldernes with cursitnes,
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At lenth thay will all tyre.
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That Campion of Babilon,
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That bludy beildar up:
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With Mytrid heid, ane homyceid,
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That saikles blude dois sup.
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Gar cow his Crowne, or put him doun
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That he may taist the Cup
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Quhairwith oft tymes, for saikles crymes
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Mennis lyves he Interup.
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And se that never, ye do dissever
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From first contractit band,
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Quhen ye our King of yeiris ying,
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Maid Rewlar of this land.
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Lat not Invy, cause sum ly by,
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Bot all togidder stand:
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Than God the Lord, misericord,
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Will be your sure warrand.
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From Cail mercat, quhair as I sat
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Thir wordis I did Indyte,
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The wyfis amang, that thocht greit lang
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To se my awin hand wryte.
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Gif ony be, that will Judge me,
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To speik bot in dispyte,
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Gar mend the mis, committit is,
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And I na mair sall flyte.
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