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V.

III.

Though all the werk1 that ever had livand No man has courage for to write,
wight
What pleasance is in love perfite,
Were only thine,2 no more thy part does That has in feigned love delight:

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Their kindness' is so contrar clean :2

Now comis age where youth has been,
And true love rises fro the spleen.

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June;"

"Into

That ye have neither wit nor will, To win yourself a better name!

VII.

Your burgh of beggars is ane nest,
To shout they swenyours' will not rest;
All honest folk they do molest,
Sae piteously they cry and rame ;2
Think ye not shame,

That for the poor has nothing drest,3
In hurt and slander of your name!

VIII.

Your profit daily does increase,
Your godly workis less and less ;
Through streetis nane may make pro-

gress

For cry of crooked,4 blind, and lame;
Think ye not shame,

That ye sic substance does possess,
And will not win a better name!

IX.

Cunninger men maun serve saint clown, 10 Sen for the Court and the Session,5

And never to other craftis claim;

Think ye not shame,

To hold sic mowaris11 on the moon, In hurt and slander of your name!

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The great repair of this region
Is in your burgh, therefore be boun
To mend all faults that are to blame
And eschew shame;

Gif they pass to ane other town
Ye will decay, and your great name!
X.

Therefore strangers and lieges treat,
Take not oure meikle for their meat,
And gar your merchants be discreet,
That nae extortions be proclaim,
Awffrand7 ane shame ;

Keep order, and poor neighbours beit, That ye may get a better name!

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TO THE KING.

THE PETITION OF THE GRAY HORSE, AULD DUNBAR.

Now lovers come with largess1 loud, Why should not palfreys then be proud, When gillets will be schomd and schroud,3

That ridden are baith with lord and lad?

Sir, let it never in town be tald,
That I should be ane Yulis yald !4

When I was young and into ply,5
And wald cast gambols to the sky,
I had been bought in realms by,"
Had I consented to be sald.

Sir, let it never in town be tald,
That I should be ane Yulis yald!

With gentle horse when I wald nip,
Then is there laid on me ane whip,
To colleveris? then maun I skip,
That scabbit are, has cruik and cald.
Sir, let it never in town be tald,
That I should be ane Yulis yald!

Though in the stall I be not clapped,
As coursers that in silk been trappèd,
With ane new house I wald be happed,
Agains this Christmas for the cald.

Sir, let it never in town be tald,
That I should be ane Yulis yald!

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