1

Gladethe, thoue queyne of Scottis regioun,
Ying tendir plaunt of plesand pulcritude,
Fresche flour of youthe, new germyng to burgeoun,
Our perle of price, our princes fair and gud,
Our charbunkle chosin of hye imperiale blud,
Our rois riale most reuerent vnder crovne,
Ioy be and grace onto thi selcitud,
Gladethe, thoue queyne of Scottis regioun.

2

O hye trivmphing peradis of ioy,
Lodsteir and lamp of euery lustines,
Of port surmounting Pollexen of Troy,
Dochtir to Pallas in angillik brichtnes,
Mastres of nurtur and of nobilnes,
Of fresch depictour princes and patroun,
O hevin in erthe of ferlifull suetnes,
Gladethe, thou queyne of Scottis regione.

3

Of thi fair fegour Natur micht reioys,
That so the kervit witht ale hir cuir and slicht.
Sche has the maid this werray warldis chois,
Schaving one the hir craftis and hir micht,
To se quhow fair sche couthe depant a wicht,
Quhow gud, how noble of ale condicioun,
Quhow womanly in euery mannis sicht.
Gladethe, thoue queyne of Scottis regioun.

4

Rois red and quhit, resplendent of colour,
New of thi knop, at morrow fresche atyrit,
One stalk yet grene, O yong and tendir flour,
That with thi luff has ale this regioun firit,
Gret Gode ws graunt that we haue lang desirit,
A plaunt to spring of thi successioun,
Syne witht ale grace his spreit to be inspirit.
Gladethe, thoue queyne of Scottis regioun.

5

O precius Margreit, plesand, cleir and quhit,
Mor blitht and bricht na is the beriale schene,
Moir deir na is the diamaunt of delit,
Mor semly na is the sapheir one to seyne,
Mor gudely eik na is the emerant greyne,
Moir riche na is the ruby of renovne,
Fair gem of ioy, Margreit, of the I meyne:
Gladethe, thoue queyne of Scottis regioun.