William Dunbar

"Man, pleis thy makar and be mirry, And sett not by this warld a chirry."

"My deathe chasis my lyfe so besalie That wery is my goist to fle so fast."

"All wemen of us suld haif honoring, Service and luve, aboif all uthir thing."

"All luve is lost bot upone God allone."

"Ay farest faderis hes farrest fowlis."

"So nixt to simmer, winter bein, Nixt eftir comfort, cairis kein, Nixt derk midnicht the mirthful morrow; Nixt eftir joy ay cumis sorow. So is this warld, and ay hes bein."

"Sweet rois of vertew and of gentilness, Delytsum lily of everie lustynes, Richest in bontie and in bewtie clear, And everie vertew that is wenit dear, Except onlie that ye are mercyless.Into your garth this day I did persew; There saw I flowris that fresche were of hew; Baith quhyte and reid most lusty were to seyne, And halesome herbis upon stalkis greene; Yet leaf nor flowr find could I nane of rew.I doubt that Merche, with his cauld blastis keyne, Has slain this gentil herb, that I of mene; Quhois piteous death dois to my heart sic paine That I would make to plant his root againe,— So confortand his levis unto me bene."

"I that in heill wes and gladness, Am trublit now with gret seiknes, And feblit with infermité; Timor mortis conturbat me.Our plesance heir is all vane glory, This fals warld is bot transitory, The flesche is brukle, the Fend is sle; Timor mortis conturbat me."

"On to the ded gois all estatis, Princis, prelotis, and potestatis, Baith riche and pur of al degre; Timor mortis conturbat me.He takis the knychtis in to feild, Anarmit under helme and scheild; Victour he is at all mellie; Timor mortis conturbat me."

"He hes done peteouslie devour, The noble Chawcer of makaris flouir, The Monk of Bery, and Gower, all thré; Timor mortis conturbat me."

"Strong be thy wallis that about the standis; Wise be the people that within the dwellis; Fresh is thy ryver with his lusty strandis; Blith be thy chirches, wele sownyng be thy bellis; Riche be thy merchauntis in substance that excellis Fair be thy wives, right lovesom, white and small; Clere be thy virgyns, lusty under kellis: London, thou art the flour of Cities all."