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Sa lyke, sa lyke, as it wes trew to be,
Quhen nane of thame could mak ane lytill fle!
And ȝit no schame, to tak in hand, tha thocht,
To mak grit God, quhilk maid all thing of nocht!
Grit God we pray, sen Prencis wald perceaue,
And it in to thair hart[i]s deiplie graue,
How be tha Iuglours tha haue bene blindlynes led,
With deuillysche Doctrine fosterit and fed!
Na dout, gude Lord, bot than tha wald refuse it,
Quhen as tha knew how tha haue bene abuse-it!