"Jeanniemy ain Jeanniemy bestmy maist dutiful bairn!

We partly doe; when saw you maister Beech?

Nath'les, my Lute, whom Phoebus deigned to give, Cease not to sound these olde antiquities: For if that Time doo let thy glorie live, Well maist thou boast, how ever base thou bee, That thou art first which of thy nation song Th'olde honour of the people gowned long.

O ye may ca' them vulgar farin'; Wives and mithers maist despairin', Ca' them lives o' men.

Except thy selfe, all things to him were free: Otho, thou hast done me more then injurie; Well maist thou fixe thy eye upon the earth, This action sith breedes a prodigious birth: It is so monstrous, and against all kinde, That the lights splendor would confound thy minde.