The Want of Wyse Men

Me ferlyis of this grete confusioun;
I wald sum clerk of connyng walde declerde,
Quhat gerris this warld be turnyt upside doun.
Thair is na faithfull fastness founde in erd;
Now is nocht thre may traistly trow the ferde;
Welth is away, and wit is worthin wynkis;
Now sele is sorow, this is a wofull werde,
Sen want of wyse men makis fulis to sit on binkis.

As bukis beiris witnes, quhen levit King Saturnus,
For gudely governance this warld was goldin cald;
For untreuth we wate nocht quhare-to it turnis.
The quhill that Octaviane, the monarchy could hald,
Our-all was pes, well set as hertis wald:
Than regnyt reule, and resone held his rynkis;
Now lakkis prudence; nobilitee is thralde,
Sen want of wyse men makis fulis to sit on bynkis.

Aristotill for his moralitee,
Austyn, or Ambrose, for dyvine scripture,
Quha can placebo, and nocht half dirige,
That practik for to pike and pill the pure,
He sail cum in, and thay stand at the dure;
For warldly wyn sik walkis, quhen wysar wynkis;
Wit takis na worschip, sik in the aventure,
Sen want of wyse men makis fulis to sit on binkis.

Now, but defense, rycht lyis all desolate,
Rycht na resone under na rufe has rest;
Youth is but raddour, and age is obstynate,
Mycht but mercy; the pure ar all opprest.
Lerit folk suld tech the peple of the best;
Thouch lare be lytil, yit ferles in tham sinkis:
It may noucht be this warld ay thus suld lest,
That want of wyse men makis fulis sit on binkis.

For now is exilde all aid noble corage,
Lautee, lufe, and liberalitee;
Now is stabilitee fundin in na stage,
Nor degest counsele wyth maturitee;
Peas is away, all in perplexitee;
Prudence and policy ar banyst our al brinkis:
This warld is wer, sa may it callit be,
That want of wyse men makis fulis sit on bynkis.

Quhare is the balance of just and equitie?
Nothir meryt is preisit, na punyst is trespas;
All ledis lyvis lawles at libertee,
Noucht reulit be reson, mare than ox or ass;
Gude faith is flemyt worthin fraellar than glas;
Trew lufe is lorne, and lautee haldis no lynkis;
Sik governance I call noucht worth a fasse,
Sen want of wise men makis fulis sitt on binkis.

Now wrang has warrane, and law is bot wilfulness;
Quha hes the war is worthin on him all the wyte,
For trewth is tressoun, and faith fals fekilness,
Gyle is now gyd, and vane lust is also delyte;
Kirk is contempnit, thay compt nocht cursing a myte;
Grit God is grevit, that we rycht soir forthinkis;
The causs of this ony man may sone vit,
That want of wys men garis fulis sit on binkis.

Luve hes tane leif, and wirschep hes no udir wane;
With passing poverty pryd is importable;
Vyce is bot vertew, wit is with will soir ourgane;
As lairdis so laddis, daly chengeable;
But iyme or ressone all is bot heble-hable;
Sic sturtfull stering in to Godis neise it stinkis;
Bot He haif rew, all is unremedable,
For want of wyse men makis fulis sit on binkis.

O Lord of Lordis! God and Gouvernour,
Makar and Movar, bath of mare and lesse,
Quhais power, wisedome and he honoure,
Is infynite, sal be, and evir wes,
As in the principall mencioun of the Messe,
All thir sayd thingis reforme as Thow best thinkis,
Quhilk ar degradit, for pure pitee redresse,
Sen want of wise men makis fulis sit in binkis.