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The poems (1902)

Scott, Alexander (1525?-1584?)

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The Wryttar to the Reidaris.
 1. 
1. Ane new ȝeir gift, to the quene Mary, Quhen scho come first hame.
 2. 
2. The iusting and debait vp at the Drum, Betuix Wa Adamsone, and Iohnie Sym.
 3. 
3. Of May.
 4. 
4. [O Lusty May, with Flora Quene.]
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Poems on the Pains and Pleasures of Love.
 5. 
5. [Luve preysis but comparesone.]
 6. 
6. [Haif hairt in hairt, ȝe hairt of hairtis, haill.]
 7. 
7. The anschir to the ballat of hairtis.
 8. 
8. [Hence, hairt, with hir þat most departe.]
 9. 
9. [Quha is perfyte to put in wryt.]
 10. 
10. [I wil be plane and lufe affane.]
 11. 
11. [Only to ȝow in erd that I lufe best.]
 12. 
12. [Rycht as þe glass bene thirlit thrucht with bemis.]
 13. 
13. [“Up, helsum hairt! thy rutis rais, & lowp.”
 14. 
14. [How suld my febill body fure.]
 15. 
15. [Marvilling in mynd, quhat ailis fortoun at me.]
 16. 
16. [Departe, departe, departe.]
 17. 
17. [That evir I luvit allace þairfoir.]
 18. 
18. [Oppressit hairt, indure.]
 19. 
19. [Leif luve & lat me leif allone.]
 20. 
20. [Thocht I in grit distress.]
 21. 
21. [Langour to leive, allace.]
 22. 
22. [Favour is fair in luvis lair.]
 23. 
23. [Returne thee, hairt, hamewart agane.]
 24. 
24. [In June the jem of joy and geme.]
 25. 
25. [Thair is nocht ane winche þat I se.]
 26. 
26. Quod Scott quhen his wyfe left him.
 27. 
27. [Quha lykis to luve.]
 28. 
28. [Lo! quhat it is to luve.]
 29. 
29. [Quhome sould I wyt of my mischance.]
 30. 
30. It cumis ȝow luvaris to be laill.
 31. 
31. [Fra raige of ȝowth the rynk hes rune.]
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Satires.
 32. 
32. The slicht remeid of luve.
 33. 
33. Ane ballat maid to þe derisioun and scorne of wantoun wemen.
 34. 
34. [I mvse and mervillis in my mind.]
 35. 
35. [Ladies, be war þat plesand ar.]
 36. 
36. [Ȝe blindit luvaris luke.]
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Paraphrases of the Psalms.
 37. 
37. The first psalme.
 38. 
38. The fyifty psalme.
  
The Wryttar to the Redare.

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20. [Thocht I in grit distress.]

Thocht I in grit distress
Suld de in to dispair,
I can get no redress
Of ȝow my lady fair,
39

Howbeid my tyme I wair
Alhaill in ȝour scherwyce,
Ȝe compt nocht of my cair,
I fynd ȝow ay so nyce.
It dois ȝow ay delyt
To wit me in distress.
Sic is ȝour haill dispyt
And grit vnfathfulness;
The mair I do me dress
To be at ȝour devyce,
My guerdoun is the less
I find ȝow ay so nyss.
Ay tresting for to speid
I haif my hairt ourset,
Quhair þat I fynd bot feid
My langour for to lett;
I seik the watter hett
In vndir the cauld yce,
Quhair na regaird I gett
I fynd ȝow ay so nyss.
Belevand ay for grace
I hald my hairt on loft,
Bot now I say, allace
That evir I it socht!
I fynd ȝour fenȝeit thocht
Vncertane as þe dyce,
Thairfoir I compt it nocht
I fynd ȝow ay so nyce.
Lang tyme ȝe haif me pruffit
And evir fund me trew,
Bot now that I haif luvit
Rycht sair I may it rew.
First quhen I did persew,
I wont ȝe had bene wyss,
Bot now fairweill, adew!
I find ȝow ay so nyss.
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