The Prais of Aige
Within ane garth, undir a reid roseir,
Ane auld man and decrepit, hard I sing;
Gay was the not, sweit was the voce and cleir;
It was grit joy to heir of sic a thing.
And as me thocht, he said in his dyting,
'For to be yung I wald not, for my wiss
Of all this warld to mak me lord and King:
The moir of aige the nerrer hevynis bliss.
'Fals is this warld, and full of variance,
Besocht with syn and other sytis mo:
Trewth is all tynt, gyle hes the govirnance,
Wretchitness hes wrocht all weill to wo;
Fredome is tynt, and flemyt the lordis fro,
And covettyce is all the cause of thiss;
I am content that yowtheid is ago:
The moir of age the nerrer hevynis bliss.
'The stait of youth I repute for na gude,
For in that stait sic perilis now I see;
But speciall grace, the regeing of his blude
Can nane ganestand, quhill that he aigit be;
Syne of the thing befoir that joyit he
Nothing remanis now to be callit his;
For-why it was bot verry vanitie:
The moir of aige the nerrer hevynis bliss.
'Suld no man trust this wrechit world, for-quhy
Of erdly joy ay sorow is the end;
The stait of it can no man certify,
This day a king, to morne na thing to spend.
Quhat haif we heir bot grace us to defend?
The quhilk God grant us till mend our miss,
That to His gloir He ma our saulis send;
The moir of aige the nerrer hevynis bliss.'