And had aneuch in press to lay;
Thay wantit nather malt nor quheit,
And mirrines wes nocht away.
And we hald nather Yule nor Pace[1090],
Bot seik our meit from place to place;
And we haive nather luk nor grace.
We gar[1091] our landis dowbill pay;
Our tennentis cry Alace! Alace!
That routh[1092] and pittie is away.
Now we haive mair, it is weill kend[1093],