LAMENT FOR THE MAKARIS.
QUHEN HE WES SEIK.
I that in heill wes and glaidness,
Am trublit now with gret seikness,
And feblit with infirmitie;
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
Our plesance heir is all vane glory, 5
This fals Warld is bot transitory,
The flesche is brukle, the Feynd is slé;
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
The stait of Man dois change and vary,
Now sound, now seik, now blyth, now sary, 10
Now dansand mirry, now like to die;
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
No Stait in Erd heir standis sicker;
As with the wynd wavis the wickir,
So wavis this Warldis vanité; 15
Timor Mortis conturbat me.
