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228

XIV. [Thought vnsene Echo hyde frome me her face.]

Thought vnsene Echo hyde frome me her face,
Shee semes yet by her workes to beare my love,
For quhen I would her wittnes my disgrace,
With piteous voyce shee dois my plants approve;
Sua shee a stone to reuthe her tones dois move,
And frames her accents to my fayinting mone,
As wishing that the plagues which I ay prove
might with my teares be dryed vp and gone.
Bot cruell shee quha maks me crye and grone,
baithe deafe and nyce [?] to ansuer mak disdaynes,
yea, when I cal, her eares shee stopps anone,
and baithe frome speache and pittie shee refraynes:
so shee laments conpond of stone and aire,
quhils shee which fleshe is brings me cross and caire.