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A foreign foe, whom neither the force,
Nor manners do approve,
Woe is to thee by guilt and flight,
Will only win above.
This mighty nation was to fore,
Invincible and stout,
Will yield slowly to destiny,
Great pity is but a doubt.
In a former age, the Scots renown
Did flourish goodly gaye,
But now, alas! will be o'ercome,
With a great dark decay.
Then mark and see what is the cause,
Of this so wond'rous fall!
Contempt of faith; falsehood, deceit,
The wrath of God withal.
Unsatiable greed of worldy gain,
Oppression, cries of poor,
A perpetual, slanderous race,
No justice put in ure.
The haughty pride of mighty men,
Of former vice chief cause,
The nutriture of wickedness,
An unjust match of laws:
