The thochts of men dois daylie change,
As fantasie breids in thair brestis.
For quhy? Thair nature is so strange,
That few can sind quhair friendship restis.
For double dealing beirs suche sway,
All honest meining dois quyte decay.

The stedfaste faythe, that freynds profes,
Is fled frome thame and seindle usit.
Quha dois ane faytheful freynd posses,
Be quhame he never wes abusit?
Quhair ane is fund ane freynd indeid,
A scoir thair be that fails at neid.

For barran treis will blosumes beir,
Als weil as thois that structe do yeild;
Quhais barke and branchis schynes als cleir
As ony flour in all the field.
Als semple luiks the subtil man,
As he that of na falsat can.

A freynd in wourds, quhair deids be deid,
Is lyk ane spring that watir wantis:
And he that with fair words is feid,
Dois hope for frute of witherit plantis.
Bot quha can judge be vew of c
Quhair [deids] be deid quhair treuth suld be?

The surest way that I can find
Is first to prufe, and syn to trust:
So sall affection not be blind;
For treuthe will sone try out the just:
And tryal knaws quha meins dissait,
And byds bewar with thair debait.

Without gude prufe be not owr bald,
Gif yow my counsale list to taik;
In payntit words thair is na hald;
Thai be bot leaves that wind dois schaik.
Bot quhair that words and deids agre,
Trust weill that freynd and credit me.