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Poet and king and dæmonologist,
The LORD hath said destroy'd his people are
For lacke of knowledge; what thou know'st t'exist
Of euil thinges and spirite thinges noire
The subiects shelu'd within a grosse grimoire
Thou hast made clearly knowne to edify
The bodie of the Lord on which a warre
Hath bene declair'd by th'father of the lie.
Dæmoniacques deceiu'd by Sathan die
A second death quhair dying hath no end    
And euerie wicked witch wuld sooner fry
Then die the second death and then descend.
A seruice thou hast done to Gods elect
Giuing them eies the Divel to detect.
Meet me beneath the olive-tre
I'th'garden of Gethsemane
Quhair Jesus pray'd.  Pray thou with me.

Twa corbies mak an hairie nest
Within the gardens wooden brest.
The Sunne is running tow'rd the west.

From off the tre the fruicte doth fall
Upon the firm fixt flatten'd ball
Of wormwood Earth whose seas are gall.

— The End —