Classic Poem

Full oft I muse, and hes in thocht
How this fals Warld is ay on flocht,
Quhair no thing ferme is nor degest;
And when I haif my mynd all socht,
For to be blyth me think it best.

This warld ever dois flicht and wary,
Fortoun sa fast hir quheill dois cary,
Na tyme but turning can tak rest;
For quhois fats change suld none be sary,
For to be blyth me think it best.

Wald men considdir in mynd richt weill,
Or Fortoun on him turn hir quheill,
That erdly honour may nocht lest,
His fall less panefull he suld feill;
For to be blyth me think it best.

Quha with this warld dois warsill and stryfe,
And dois his dayis in dolour dryfe,
Thocht he in lordschip be possest,
He levis bot ane wrechit lyfe:
For to be blyth me think it best.

Off warldis gud and grit richess,
Quhat fruct hes man but merriness?
Thocht he this warld had eist and west,
All wer povertie but glaidness:
For to be blyth me think it best.

Quho suld for tynsall drowp or de,
For thyng that is bot vanitie;
Sen to the lyfe that evir dois lest,
Heir is bot twynkling of an ee:
For to be blyth me think it best.

Had I for warldis unkyndness
In hairt tane ony heviness,
Or fro my plesans bene opprest;
I had bene deid lang syne dowtless:
For to be blyth me think it best.

How evir this warld do change and vary,
Lat us in hairt nevir moir be sary,
But evir be reddy and addrest
To pass out of this frawfull fary:
For to be blyth me think it best.