318
It canna be kythit to the gudely sun,
It pynyth sae at his nobil sicht;
It shrinkyth quyte like a thing undone
Quhan luikit on by the blessit licht:
In hert whence heevinlie luvc hath gone
Thilke evil weid aye bourgenis on.
Fell En vies th' plant of mortal pouir
Quhilk flourischis grenelye in the hert—
Raining the slawe and poisonous shouir
Quhilk c ankere th the vertuous part:
Black Envie wherever its seed is sawin,
Fashion is a hert like the foul Fiend's awin!
