11
16For out of thee shall people rise,
With divers happiness;
And yet a pen can scarcely write,
Thy hurt, skaith, and distress.
17And yet beware thou not distrust,
Altho' o'erwhelm'd with grief,
Thy stroke is not perpetual,
For thou shah find relief.
18I do suppose, altho' too late,
Old prophecies shall hold,
Hope thou in God's goodness evermore,
And mercies manifold.
19For thou that now a patient is,
And seemeth to be bound;
At liberty shall free be set,
And with empire be crown'd.
20From high above shall grace come down,
And thy state, Scotland, be,
In latter ends, more prosperous
Than former age did see.
21Old prophecies foretell to thee,
A warlike heir he's born,
Who shall recover new your right,
Advance this kingdom's horn.
22Then shall fair Scotland be advanc'd
Above her enemies power;
Her cruel foes shall be dispersed
And scatter'd from her bower.
