“ Intil a garth, under a red rosere,
Ane auld man and decrepit heard I
sing ;
Gay was the note, sweet was the voice
and clear ;
It was great joy to hear of sic ane
thing.
And to my doume1 he said, in his
diting,
‘ For to be young I wald not, for my wyss
Of all this warld to make me lord
and king ;
The more of age, the nearer heaven’s
bliss.
‘ False is this warld and full of vari-
ance.
Ourset with sin and other sytis2
mo ;
Now truth is tynt,3 guile has the
governance,
And wretchedness has turnyt all fra
weal to woe ;
Freedom is tynt and flemyt4 the
Lordis fro,
And covetise is all the cause of this ;
I am content that youthhead is ago :
The more of age, the nearer heaven’s
bliss.
‘ The state of youth I repute for na
guid,
For in that state great peril now I
see ;
Can nane gainstand the raging of his
bluid,
Ne yet be stable till that he agit be :
Then of the thing that maist rejoicit
he,
Na thing remains for to be callit his ;
For why ? it was but very vanity :
The more of age, the nearer heaven’s
bliss.
‘ This wretched warld may na man trow ;
for why ?
Of earthly joy aye sorrow is the end ;
The gloyr of it can na man certify,
This day a king, the morn na thing
to spend !
What have we here but grace us to
defend ?
The whilk God grant us to amend our
miss,
That to his joy he may our saulis
send ;
The more of age, the nearer heaven’s
bliss.
1 As I thought.
2 Pains, troubles.
3 Lost.
4 Banished.