The Poysonit Schot
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GIf wicked vice first sen the warld began
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Had age be age, but punishment Increst?
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In eirth lang syne yair had bene nothing than,
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Saif onlyvice and malice manifest.
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Bot to thir dayis sic meanis God ay drest,
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Aganis vice that vertew ay hes strevin:
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Thocht ather uther be tyme hes oft opprest,
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Last Justice Judge bure ay the ballance evin.
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Sa of his plesure it plesit him provyde,
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Us to exerce as ship under the saill:
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Sum tyme in storme, sum tyme in temperate tyde
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To let us knaw this warld is but fraill.
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Betuix gude and evill markand our travaill,
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In evills flude not menand our nawfrage:
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Princes be Justice he ordanit in this vaill,
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Us to conduct as Pilats dois their Barge.
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And sa we se in Storeis as we reid,
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Ay to thir dayis sum Magistrates did ring:
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Sum gude some evill, betyme as d[i]d succeid
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At quhais plesure vertew did fade or spring.
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The gude did vertew, the wicked vice upbring
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Quhat plesis them the same the pepill suittis
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And sa we se the maners of the King
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Is ay the mark quhairat his subjectis shuittis
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This part to preif be yair particular lives
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It war to lang in vulgare veirs expres it,
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At lenth the same sen Cronickles discrives,
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And als experience will cause us to confes it.
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And last of all, how wicked vice Incres it
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Amang ourselves throw Marcis negligence,
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And how the same began to be suppressit:
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Be Murrayis meane we haif experience.
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Quhat vice rais up revolve into zour minds
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Quhat sin, quhat shame, in hir last dayis did reil
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That prudent Prince gif yat he tuik sum pynis
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That mys to mend I hope ze haif ane feill.
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Gif ocht he socht except ane commounweill,
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The gloir of God and Kingis obedience:
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And in that cause maid Justice ay his sheild,
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I seik na Judge bot zour awin conscience.
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His awin estate he cairit ay to knaw,
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For pompe nor pryde can na man say he preist,
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Societie he socht, and keipit curage law,
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Thinkand alwayis that mesure was ane feist.
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His peple luifit, and cairit for the leist,
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For profite panst not, nor his commoditie:
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In trouble travellit: his cummer never ceist
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Ay to his wraik, and our utilitie.
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Thus be his prudence vertew was erectit
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In him the pure oppressed had releif:
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Throw him Idolatrie and vice wes ejectit,
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Throw him Gods Kirk and peple fand releif.
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Throw him wes vinqueist the beildars of yis greif
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Throw him yis realme fand sum stabilitie
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Throw him was baneist thift, murther, & reif,
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Piracie puneist, and devillishe sorcerie.
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Sa vertew sprang, and vice began to faide,
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Oppressioun fled, and Justice tuik the place,
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His godly lyfe all godly men may aide:
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Be his exemple vertew to imbrace.
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And als his lyfe may in ane other cace,
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All Princes warne heirefter to succeid:
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Thair foes to flatter that hes ane double face,
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And to be war to clap ane traytours heid.
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Even as the man the quhilk be musik playis
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Mistonit stringis castis not away we se,
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But peice and peice be sundrie wrestis & sayis
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Ilk ane with uther be tyme causis agre.
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Even so that Prince thocht be humilitie,
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His peple wyn, and concord to contrake
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Bot as sum stringis will rather brek nor be,
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Evin so the wickit be mercy will not make.
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His mercy wan: bot mair his mercy tint
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Not he, bot we, his mercy now may rew
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His mercy loist, we wan the swordis dint,
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His mercy saifit, be murther that him slew.
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Suppose his mercy this bergane to us brew
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Zit mene I not bot men suld mercy use,
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To penitents, quha myndis not vice renew,
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Bot nane to sic continewis in abuse.
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His mercy saifit, quha mercy not deservit,
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His mercy did preserve the arrogant:
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His mercy sum amangis us hes preservit,
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Thocht thay seme holy indeid yai ar na sanct.
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His mercy saifit, we wer the better want,
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Thair Serpents seid to tyranis wald us thral
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Because sic peple in tyme he did not dant,
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But warldly mercy Christ sufferit him to fall.
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For mortall malice, and curst covetice,
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With wickit Invy commonit all in Ire:
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And prydefull arrogance the mother of all vice
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Aganis that Prince did cruelly conspire.
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His fais hartis Inflamit all in fyre,
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His blude to seik Invyfull of his gloir:
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Saikles to shuit him ane harlet feit for hyre,
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Hangman to Hary, that tratouris wes befoir.
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O bludy bouchour bastard of Balials blude
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Quha to this Realme had nother lufe nor zeill
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O tressonable tratour be tresson yat thocht gude
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Murdreis the Prince preserver of this weill.
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O sorrowfull shot, thy poysoun did doun steill,
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Not only him, quhom wofully thow woundit:
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Bot pure & riche, thy vennoume hes gart feill,
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Of his deir deith the stoundis him confoundit.
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That shot allace yis realme hes shot in tway
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That shot to vice the portis hes oppinit plane,
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That shot hes Justice and vertew shot away,
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That shot Idolatrie is shuitand up agane.
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Sic shottis unpuneist gif lang time yai remane
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Vice sall be vertew, and vertew sall be vice:
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Wrang salbe richt, and richt salbe thocht vane
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Ilk ane unpuneist sall pleis thair awin device.
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That shot hes sinderit quhilk was togidder knit
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That shot hes cuillit our curage as ye leid
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That shot hes feiblit our manly force and wit,
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That shot our sichts hes blindit all indeid.
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We se and spyis not our sorrowis to succeid,
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We meint & meinis not this wickitnes correck
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We wald and will not hank yame be ye heid
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Quha hes preparit the swordis for our nek.
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Vagabounds we wander in miserie & wo
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As ship but Ruther, sa ga we now but gyde:
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We skail we scatter we wait not quhair we go
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Spyis not the rock quhairon we rashe our syde
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We haif na grace nor power to provyde,
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Aganis this rage and crueltie: remeid
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Bot willingly allace throw arrogance & pryde
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Offers this Realme as Sacrifice to deid.
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In place of peace now murther weir uprasis
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In place of lufe Invy amangis us springis,
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In place of Faith his freind falset betrasis
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In place of rest Rebellioun with us ringis.
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In place of ane, we have so mony Kingis,
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The Crownit King gettis na obedience
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Sum France for aide, & sum Ingland inbringis
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The ane for wrak the tother for defence.
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And so this Realme quhilk enemeis oft sayit
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With cruell weir and sturdie stormis fell,
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Quhilk feirful force of Ingland never frayit,
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Of France the feir, nor Spaine in just quarrel
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Quhilk to thir dayis unvenqueist buir ye bell
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Sall now allace be fatell destenie:
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As Ajax wes, be vanquer of the sell,
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On proper knyfe constraynit for to die.
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Quhat wald allace our Kings & elders say,
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Gifin thir dayis from hevin yai now discendit
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To se this Realme so dulefully decay,
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In quhais defence yair lusty lyvis thay endit.
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Thay wald I trust repent yair time sa spendit
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Thay wald I wait yair labouris loist forthink
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To se yair Babes ye blude quhilk yai defendit
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Aganis nature sa cruelly updrink.
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Justlie yis plague I dout not we deservit
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Seikand the menis of our awin mischeif:
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Bakwart from God because we haif suervit
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Thairfoir we taist his punischment in greif.
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Zit in his mercy haifand ay beleif,
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Still sall I pray his devine Majestie,
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Aganis this rage to send us releif,
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Our King to saif and his Nobilitie.
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Lenvoye.
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GO bony bill deploir
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Of deith the dolent stound,
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Quhilk did our Prince devoir
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James Regent of Renoun.
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I pray the go, declair the wo
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Sen syne that dois abound,
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I gif command, throw burgh and land,
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The same zow gar resound.
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Our cair may move the stonis,
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And havie rockis to rair:
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Swa mony stormes at onis,
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Struke never land sa fair.
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The cause of that, the hevins wat,
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Not I, I zow declair,
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Except it be, to let us se,
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How Kingdomes ar bot cair.
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Zit lat us not dispair
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Into thir walis of wo,
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God may convert our cair
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in plesure and in Jo.
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He may discord, turne in accord,
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And mak him freind was fo:
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He may I trest, set us at rest,
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Thocht all the warld say no.
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It sulde releve our greif,
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To se our King bening:
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In him I hope releif,
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Of zeiris thocht he be zing.
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His future age, sum great presage,
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Presentis us in his Ring:
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Quha our defence, in his nascence,
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Tuik haill in governing.
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