BY WILLIAM DUNBAR.



Full oft I muse, and hes in thocht
How this fals Warld is ay on flocht,
Quhair no thing ferme is nor degest; {91a} {91d}
And when I haif my mynd all socht,
For to be blyth me think it best.

This warld ever dois flicht and wary, {91b}
Fortoun sa fast hir quheill dois cary,
Na tyme but turning can tak rest; {91e}
For quhois fats change suld none be sary,
For to be blyth me think it best.

Wald men considdir in mynd richt weill,
Or Fortoun on him turn hir quheill,
That erdly honour may nocht lest,
His fall less panefull he suld feill;
For to be blyth me think it best.

Quha with this warld dois warsill and stryfe, {91c}
And dois his dayis in dolour dryfe,
Thocht he in lordschip be possest,
He levis bot ane wrechit lyfe:
For to be blyth me think it best.

Off warldis gud and grit richess,
Quhat fruct hes man but merriness?