Man, sen thy lyfe is ay in weir

Man, sen thy lyfe is ay in weir,
And deid is evir drawand neir,
The tyme vnsicker and the place ;
Thyne awin gude spend quhill thow hes space.

Gif it be thyne thy self it vsis,
Gif it be nocht the it refusis,
Ane vthir of it the proffeit hess ;
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes spaiss.

Thow may to day haif gude to spend,
And hestely to morne fra it wend,
And leif ane vthir thy baggis to braiss ;
Thy awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.

Quhill thow hes space se thow dispone,
That for thy geir quhen thow art gone,
No wicht ane vder slay nor chace ;
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.

Sum all his dayis dryvis our in vane,
Ay gadderand geir with sorrow and pane,
And nevir is glaid at ȝule nor Paiss ;
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.

Syne cumis ane vder glaid of his sorrow,
That for him prayit nowdir evin nor morrow,
And fangis it all with mirrynais ;
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.

Sum grit gud gadderis and ay it spairis,
And eftir him thair cumis ȝung airis,
That his auld thrift settis on ane ess ;
Man, thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.

It is all thyne that thow heir spendis,
And nocht all that on the dependis,
Bot his to spend it that hes grace ;
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes spais.

Trest nocht ane vthir will do the to,
It that thy self wald nevir do,
Ffor gife thow dois, strenge is thy cace ;
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes spais.

Luke how the bairne dois to the muder,
And tak example be nane vdder,
That it nocht eftir be thy cace ;
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.

Quod Dumbar.