Thy greit triumphand fame and hy honour,
435
Quhair thou was callit of eirdly wichtis flour,
All is decayit; thy weird is welterit so,
Thy hy estait is turnit in darknes dour!
This lipper ludge tak for thy burelie bour,
And for thy bed tak now ane bunch of stro.
440
For waillit wyne and meitis thou had tho,
Tak mowlit breid, peirry, and syder sour;