12
A perpetual and slanderous race,
No justice put in ure.
13The haughty pride of mighty men,
Of former vice chief cause,
The nutriture of wickedness,
An unjust match of laws.
14Therefore this cause the prophets
of long time did presage,
And now has happen'd every point
Into your present age,
15Since fate is so, now Scotland learn
In patience to abide;
Slanders, great fears, and sudden plagues,
And great dolours beside.
16For out of thee shall people rise,
with divers happiness;
And yet a pen can scarcely write
Thy hurt, skaith, and distress.
17And yet beware thou not distrust,
Altho' o'erwhelm'd with grief,
Thy stroke is not perpetual,
For thou shalt find relief.
18I do suppose, altho' too late,
Old prophecies shall hold;
Hope thou in God's goodness evermore,
And mercies manifold.
