Fredome in Prisoun

Up hairt! thou art the pairt
Of man most soverane
Let servile members smarte;
And bound alane remane,
For, gif thow do not staine
Thy treuth and honestie,
How can thow be in paine?
No: suirlie thow art frie.

The boundage of the hairt
With schame is for to serve;
And from his honest pairt,
And vertew, for to suerve;
Gif thow do not deserve
That blot of infamie;
Thoch captive flesche do sterve,
Yet suirlie thow art frie.

Thoch Fortoun, Fraud, or Force,
Detein the in suspence;
Gif thow have no remorce
In mynd, nor conscience;
And hes done none offence:
Thoch in captivitie
Thow suffer violence,
Yet suirlie thow art frie.

Bot gif thow micht be taxit;
Or falset with the found;
The corps micht be relaxit,
Bot schame sould the confound;
And gif the such a wound
Sould lest perpetuallie;
And mak the slave so bound
That thow couldst ne'er be frie.

Bot, sen it is not so,
Rejoyis, and tak thi rest.
Thoch Fortoun be thy so,
Hir frouning sall not lest:
Bot cummis for the best
Thy treuth to testifie.
So, thoch thow be opprest,
Yet suirlie thow art frie.

Then, hairt! heild not ane hair;
Nor in thy prisoun ply.
Thy vertew now declair,
And Fortoun's seid defy.
For Tyme thy treuth sall try;
And gif the victorie
Of Fortoun and Invy:
And thow for ever be frie.
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