Montrose on His Own Condition
I would be high, but that the cedar tree
Is blustred down whilst smaller shrubs go free.
I would be low, but that the lowly grass
Is trampled down by each unworthy ass.
For to be high, my means they will not doe;
And to be low, my mind it will not bow.
O Heavens! O Fate! when will you once agree
To reconcile my means, my mind, and me?
Is blustred down whilst smaller shrubs go free.
I would be low, but that the lowly grass
Is trampled down by each unworthy ass.
For to be high, my means they will not doe;
And to be low, my mind it will not bow.
O Heavens! O Fate! when will you once agree
To reconcile my means, my mind, and me?
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