Queen of scots;
why envy her lot;
Queen of scots;
do not join the plot.
Albion is great;
lies with the one you hate;
Imperial crown;
deceives your eyes.
The papal vouch for thee;
your heart is angry;
A crown so late;
rule Albion's fate.
Queen of scots;
horses do not cry and weep;
A signet of glory;
you crave and gloat.
Castles abound;
made worse by your sight.
Leave Albion's chest;
flee her decks;
Queen of scots;
the 'morrow' knows your lot.
An executioner's glory;
to revel in thy folly.
Mary of scot;
eyes will never be blood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem