My Lords, late lads, nou leidars of our lauis,

Except jour gouns, some hes not worth a grote.

Jour colblak conscience all the cuntrey knauis;

Hou can je live, except je sell jour vote?

Thoght je deny, thair is aneu to note

How je for justice jouglarie hes vsit:

Suppose je say je jump not in a jote,

God is not blind. He will not be abusit.

The tym sail come vhen je sail be accusit,

For mony hundreth je haif herryit heir;

Quhare je 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.