For which we whipt in thrall with scourges three,
Had pestilence, which made my kingdome emptie,
It did destroy my men of eche degree,
Then faynting famine playde her tragedy,
Bellona then that beastly bloody queene,
Did blowe her trumpe to dashe my courage cleene.
20.
When sickenesse had consumde my subiectes quite,
The Pictes with pride did hast to spoyle my lande,
I had no men, nor meanes with them to fight,