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XXI.
[TO THE SAME.]
My Lords, late lads, nou leidars of our lauis,
Except ȝour gouns, some hes not worth a grote.
Ȝour colblak conscience all the cuntrey knauis;
Hou can ȝe live, except ȝe sell ȝour vote?
Thoght ȝe deny, thair is aneu to note
How ȝe for justice jouglarie hes vsit:
Suppose ȝe say ȝe jump not in a jote,
God is not blind, He will not be abusit.
The tym sall come vhen ȝe sall be accu[sit,]
For mony hundreth ȝe haif herryit heir;
Quhare ȝe sall be forsakin and refusit,
And syn compeld at Plotcok to appeir.
I hope in God at lenth, thoght it be late,
To sie sum sit into [dirk hellis gate].
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