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Anus speakis to Pamphilus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

Anus speakis to Pamphilus.

The common pepill feirs, be the ingins,
Of michtie men, orecumid and tane to be,
The pure mans richt, oftimes fallis doun and tins,
Throw small support, and wanting of supplie:
Faith in all pairts, is spoild as ye se,
Of hir fair hew, and colour of pleasant price,
Quhilk couert is, with mony craftis so slie,
All subiect vnto wickidnes and vice.


Na chance or fortoun, may gainstand or weir,
Agains the fatall destain from aboue,
Oft times the Sea, puts mony folkis in feir,
Yit not the les, na danger will thame moue:
I will commit, to fortunis a win behoue,
That gift the quhilk, ye did vnto me grant,
Gif I haife promisd ony gift, forsuth,
Yit not the les, the same, ye sall not want.
It me behouis, from hence for to reteir,
For till intise the las vnto this fact,
Gif that it be hir plesour to cum heir,
Ane quhile with you, for to confer and crak:
Gif that the paine and trauell, quhilk I tak,
Assembill you togither, se that than,
As time may serue, and ye may moyen mak,
Luke that ye do the dewtie of a man.
The mindis of lufers, are ay out of rime,
And bydis vnconstant presen till espier,
Ane schort hour, or occasioun at ane time,
May giue the that, the quhilk thou dois desire.