WILLIAM DUNBAR

21. Lament for the Makers

T THAT in heill was and gladness

Am trublit now with great sickness And feblit with iniirmitie: Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Our plesance here is all vain glory, This fals world is but transitory, The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee : Timor Mortis conturbat me.

The state of man does change and vary, Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary, Now dansand mirry, now like to die : Timor Mortis conturbat me.

No state in Erd here standis sicker; As with the wynd wavis the wicker So wannis this world's vanitie : Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Unto the Death gois all Estatis, Princis, Prelatis, and Potestatis, Baith rich and poor of all degree : Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He takis the knichtis in to the field Enarmit under helm and scheild ; Victor he is at all mellie : Timor Mortis conturbat me.

heill] health. bruckle] brittle, feeble. slee] sly. dansand] dancing. sicker] sure. wicker] willow. wannis] wanes,

mellie] mellay.

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