University of Virginia Library

XXVIII. [MELANCIIOLIE, GRIT DEPUT OF DISPAIR.]

Melancholie, grit deput of Dispair,
With painfull pansing comis apace,
Acompanyde with Cair,
Quhais artalȝie is Angvish shooting sair,
Of purpose to perseu the place
Vhair Plesvr maid repair.
Presuming to prevaill,
A muster grit they mak.
Amids thair battell, bitter Bail
Displayis his baner blak,
Quhais colours do declair
To signifie bot smart;
Quharin is painted cold Dispair,
Quha wrings a hop[les harte;]
Quhilk armes on far so vglie ar,
And ay convoyd with Dolovr and with Dvil,
That Hope micht skar, if they come nar,
And fray ane hairt perhaps out of his huill.

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For sighis and sobbis of shooting hes not ceist,
Quhill they haif brasht the buluark of my bre[ist],
And cryis, “Go to, the hous is win.
Melancholie! cum in.”
Thoght Rigovr then be rekles rash,
Ȝit Curage bydis the brash;
And then the hairt vhilk never ȝeild,
Of Constancie hes maid his sheild,
Quharon thair shaftis and sharpest shottis,
Lyk hailstanes aff ane studie stottis.
Ȝit pairties proudlie baith pretend
The victorie in end;
And so the tyme, but treuis, they spe[nd,]
To assaill and to defend.

The rendring reid, vhilk bouis with euerie blas[t,]
In stormis bot stoupis, vhen strongest treis
[Ar to the ground down-cast;]
Bot ȝit the rok, vhilk firmer is and fast
Amidst the rage of roring seas,
He nevir grouis agast:
The busteous blast he byds,
With watring wauis and huge,
Quhilk ramping ouer his rigging ryds,
Bot can not caus him budge.
Quhat reks then of the reid?
Or of the trees vhat reks?
The rok remanes a rok indeid,
Quhilk nather bouis nor breks;
So sall my harte, with patient parte,
Remane a rok all rigour to resist,
And sall not start to suffer smart
For ane, quhom to obey, I count me blist.
Ȝea, thoght I had a hundreth thousand hairts,
And euiry hairt peirc't with als mony dairts,

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And euirie dairt thairof also
Als mony shafts and mo,
And eviry shaft thairof must needs
To haif als mony heeds,
And euirie head als mony huikis,
And evirie huik als mony fluiks,
And evirie fluik in me war fast,
So long as breath of lyf micht last,
I suld not seme for shame to shrink,
For hir, of death to drink;
Quhais angels ees micht ay, I think,
Revive me with a wink.