Classic Poem

Thoch raging stormes move us to schaik;
And wind mak waters us owrflow:
We yield thairto, but doe not brek,
And in the calm unbent we grow.

So, baneist men, (thoch princes raige,)
And prisoners, be not disparit.
Abyde the [blast] quhill that it suaige:
For tyme sic causis hes reparit.