THESE verses from William Dunbar's great reflection on mortality make as strong an impact, emotional and philosophical, now as they must have done in the early 16th century when William Dunbar (1465-1530) composed them.

LAMENT FOR THE MAKARIS, QUHEN HE WAS SEIK

Our pleasance here is all vain-glory,

This false warld is bot transitory,

The flesh is brukill, the Fiend is sle;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

The state of man dois change and vary,

Now sound, now seik, now blyth, now sary,

Now dansand merry, now like to die;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

No state in erd here standis siccar;

As with the wind wavis the wicker,

So wavis this warldis vanitie;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

Unto the deid goes all Estatis,

Princes, Prelatis, and Potestatis,

Baith rich and puir of all degree;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

He takis the knichtis in-to field,

Enarmit under helm and shield;

Victor he is at all melee;

Timor mortis conturbat me.