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