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2Tho' unto thraldom you should be,
Brought by your enemies;
You shall have freedom from them all,
And enjoy your liberties.
3The grave of the most noble Prince,
To all is great regret,
The subject to law, who doth leave
The kingdom and estate.
4O anguish great! where every kind
And ages doth lament:
Whom bitter death has ta'en away,
Shall Scotland sore repent.
5Lately a land of rich increase,
A nation stout and true,
Has lost their former dear estate,
Which they did hold of due.
6By hard conflict, and by the stance
Of noble Fortune's force.
Thy hap and thy prosperity
May turn into worse.
7Tho' wont to won, may be subdued,
And come in under yoke;
Strangers may reign, and you destroy,
What likes him by sword's stroke.
8A foreign foe whom neither thy force.
Nor manners do approve,
Woe is to thee, by guile and slight,
Will only win above.
