 | The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie |  |
VI. TO M. P. GALLOWAY.
Sound, Gallovay, the trompet of the Lord;The blissit brethren sall obey thy blast;
Then thunder out the thretnings of the word
Aganst the wicked that auay ar cast.
92
Suppose the Divill the wickeds hairts obdure,
Ȝit perseveir, as in thy preichins past,
For to discharge thy conscience and cure.
Quhat justice sauld! vhat pilling of the pure!
Quhat bluidy murthers ar for gold forgivin!
God is not sleipand, thoght He tholde, be sure.
Cry out, and He shall heir the from the heuin;
And wish the king his court and counsell clenge,
Or then the Lord will, in His wrath, revenge.
| The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie | |