Classic Poem

Rejois, Henrie, most Christine King of Fraunce!
Rejois, all peopill of that regioun!
That with manheid, and be ane happy chance,
Be thy Levetennent trew, of greit renown,
The Duik of Gweis, recoverit Calice towne.
The quhilk hes bene, twa hundreth yeirs begane,
Into the hands of Inglis natioun;
Quha never thocht be force it micht be tane.

But we may se that mennis jugement
Is all bot vaine, when God plesis to schaw
His michtie power: quha is omnipotent;
For, quhen he plesis, he gars princes knaw
That it is he alane quha rewlis aw:
And mannis helpe is all bot vanitie.
Think that it wes his hand that brak the waw:
Thairfoir gif gloir to him eternalie.

Sa hie ane purpois for to tak in hand
Quha gaif that prince sa grit audacitie?
To seige that town, that sa stranglie did stand?
And quha gaif him sic substance and supplie?
And quha gaif him at end the victorie?
Quha bot grit God, the gydar of all things?
That, quhen he plesis, can princis magnisie:
And for thair syn translat realmes and kingis.

That nobil king wes gritlie till avance,
Quho, efter that his captanes of renoun
Had tynt ane field, be hasard and mischance,
Yet tynt na curage for that misfortoun:
Bot, lyk ane michtie valyeant campioun,
Be his Levetennent, and nobil men of weir,
Tuik upon hand to seige the strongest toun
Into the deidest tym of all the yeir.

Thairsoir ye all that ar of Scottis blude,
Be blyth, rejois for the recovering
Of that strang toun: and of the fortoun gude
Of your maist tendir freynd that nobil king;
Quhilk ay wes kynd in help and supporting
Of yow, be men, and mony copious:
And in his hand hes instantlie the thing
To yow, Scottis, that is maist pretious.

Sen ye love God in thingis outwardlie,
In fyris, and processioun generale;
Sua, in your hairtis, love him inwardlie.
Amend your lyves; repent your synnis all:
Do equal ressoun, bayth to grit and small.
And everie man do his vocationn;
Than God sall grant yow, quhen ye on hun call,
Of your fayis the dominatioun.

Sen God in the begynning of this yeir,
Unto that king sa gude fortoun hes send;
We pray to HIM sic grace to grant us heir,
That we get Berwick our merchis for to mend.
Quhilk, gif we get, our bordours may defend
Agains Ingland, with HIS help and supplie.
And then I wald the weiris had an end;
And we to leif in peax, and unitie.