This warld so fals is, and unstabil;
Of gredines unsateabil;
In all estaits sic doubilnes:
To find trew freindis few ar abil,
For keipit is na auld kyndnes.

Thoch ye do pleisour to greit men,
Thairfoir thay will yow scantlie ken;
Gif ye have ocht with thame to dres,
Ye ar not abil to get ben,
For keipit is na auld kyndnes.

Thoch ye have servit, monye ane yeir,
Ane lord, on your awin cost and geir;
And ye be fallin in distres,
Yow to releive he will be sueir,
And count nathing your auld kyndnes.

Thoch ye have ladyis servit lang,
And prev'd your pith hes thame amang;
And ye of Venus' game decres,
Out of the court then man ye gang,
Not regairding your auld kyndnes.

Sum to thair nychbours hes bene kynd,
That now thairof hes never mynd,
Bot notit ar with newsangilnes.
Of ingraitnes it hes ane strynd
That cannot keip na auld kyndnes.

Sum to communiteis hes done
That ingraitlie foryet it sone;
Sua full thay ar of fikilnes;
Changing as oft as dois the mone;
And cuiris not for auld kyndnes.

Sum did for thame, in court and sessioun,
That now falslie, without discretioun,
In tyme of troubil and bus'nes,
Mell'd with thair land, geir, and possessioun,
That schew to thame sa greit kyndnes.

Thair is that sum man did resett,
With meit, and claythis, hes him bet;
That ester in court can get entress,
And wald not ken him, quhen thay met,
Of quhome he gat sa greit kyndnes.

Thoch ye with courteours hes bein
Acquentit lang be onye mein:
And ye thame charge with busines,
Ar abill to misknaw yow clein
And will foryet auld kyndnes.

Sen in this warld, in na degrie,
Is kyndnes, nor fidelitie,
Lat us pray God, of his gudnes,
To bring us to the hevins so hie,
Quhairin thair is perfyte kyndnes.