ABBESS

How dar thou carl presume for to declair, Or for to mell the with sa heich a mater? For in Scotland their did ȝit never ring, I let the wit ane More excellent King. Of holiness he was the very plant, And now in heavin he is ane michtfull Sanct. Because that fyftein Abbacies he did found, Where throw great riches hes ay done abound Into our Kirk and daily ȝit abunds, Bot kings now I trow few Abbacies founds. I dar well say thou art condempnit in hell, That dois presume with sic maters to mell. Falls huirsun carl thou art ouir arrogant, To judge the deids of sic ane holy Sanct. My Lord Bishop I mervel how that ȝe, Suffer this carl for to speak heresy? Forbe my faith my Lord will ȝe taken tent, He servis for to be brunt incontinent. Ȝe can nought say bot it is heresy, To speak against our law and liberty. Indeed riched well till I got hame my bows. In my Abbey when I was sure professor, Then did I leife as did my predecessor. My paramours is baith also fat and fair, As any wench into the town of Air. I send my sons to Pareis to the scullis, I traist in God that they salbe nam fuillis, And all my Daughters I have well providit, Now judge ȝe give my office be well gydit.