This warldie joy is onlie fantasie,
Quhairof no erthlie wycht can be content.
Quho maist hes wit, lest sould in it effy;
Quho traists it maist, [ay] maist sall him repent.
Quhat valis all this riches, and this rent,
Sen no man knaws quha sall his tresour haif?
Presume not gevin quhat God hes to thé lent,
Within schort tyme the quhilk he thinks to craif.