Classic Poem

How sould our commoun weil indure?
God to offend we tak na cuir.
For nane preisis thair lyf to mend,
For na trouble that God will send;
As plaigis cam be aventure.

Quhan darthe cumis, or pestilence,
We say it is be accidence.
And, gif weir cumis ony way,
The muivars hes the wyt we say;
And cumis not for our offence.

And, gif we muve the weir oursel,
We say we have ane gude quarél.
And never will persave, nor kna,
That God for syn will lat us fa
Into mischeif, and oft parél.

The grit men say that the distres
Cums for the peple's wickitnes;
The peple say, for the transgressioun
Of the grit men, and thair oppressioun:
Bot nane will thair awin syn confes.