Page:Prophecies of Thomas the Rhymer (4).pdf/11

 By hard conflict, and by the chance
 * Of noble Fortune's force,

Thy hap and thy prosperity
 * May turn into worse.

Tho' wont to won, may be subdued,
 * And come in under yoke;

Strangers may reign, and you destroy,
 * What likes him by sword's stroke.

A foreign foe; whom neither thy force
 * Nor manners do approve,

Woe is to thee, by guile and slight,
 * Will only win above.

This mighty nation was to fore,
 * Invincible and stout,

Will yield slowly to destiny,
 * Great pity is but doubt.

In former age the Scots renown
 * Did flourish goodly gay;

But yet, alas! will be overcome
 * With a great dark decay.

Then mark and see what is the cause
 * Of this so wondrous fall!

Contempt of faith, falsehood, deceit,
 * The wrath of God withal.

Unsatiable greed of worldly gain,
 * Oppression, cries of poor;