 | To the Richt High Lodvvik Duke of Lenox |  |
Pamphilus speakis with himselfe.
Ane hail man makis small comfort to consaue,
In him that lies desesid, into distres,
Hereby, the Patient, na wais can persaue,
His maladie, and sicknes maid the les:
My dolorous tormentis, na wais dois decres,
By Venvs counsail, thocht hir speich be plane,
Bot pains of lufe, my persoun dois poces,
Returning backward to my breist agane.
In him that lies desesid, into distres,
Hereby, the Patient, na wais can persaue,
His maladie, and sicknes maid the les:
My dolorous tormentis, na wais dois decres,
By Venvs counsail, thocht hir speich be plane,
Bot pains of lufe, my persoun dois poces,
Returning backward to my breist agane.
For ay before, my hope affixt wes fast,
Into dame Venvs, thinking to get gane,
Frame, my hope, and esperance, is past,
Bot dolour still within me dois remaine:
My marinell hes left me frustrat waine,
In waters deipe, and fludis of all mischief,
Ane heuening place and port I seik with paine,
Yit can I find nane, for my schips relief.
Into dame Venvs, thinking to get gane,
Frame, my hope, and esperance, is past,
Bot dolour still within me dois remaine:
My marinell hes left me frustrat waine,
In waters deipe, and fludis of all mischief,
Ane heuening place and port I seik with paine,
Yit can I find nane, for my schips relief.
Quhat sall I do? for faine I wald eschew,
My esperance, in hir remains no more,
It mo behouis, to gang againe of new,
To speik with hir, with quhome I spack before.
My esperance, in hir remains no more,
It mo behouis, to gang againe of new,
To speik with hir, with quhome I spack before.
| To the Richt High Lodvvik Duke of Lenox | |