University of Virginia Library

The Ressoning betuix Aige and Yowth

Yowth.
Quhen fair flora, the godes of the flowris,
Baith firth and feildis freschely had ourfret,
And perly droppis of the balmy schowris
Thir widdis grene had with thair water wet,
Movand allone In mornyng myld I met
A mirry man, that all of mirth cowth mene,
Singand the sang that richt sweitly was sett:
‘O yowth, be glaid in to thy flowris grene.’

Aige.
I lukit furth a litill me befoir,
And saw a cative on ane club cumand,
With cheikis clene and lyart lokis hoir;
His ene was how, his voce was hess hostand,
Wallowit richt wan, and waik as ony wand,
Ane bill he beure upoun his breist abone,
In Letteris Leill but lyis, with this legand,
‘O yowth, thy flowris fedis fellone sone.’

Yowth.
This yungman lap upoun the land full licht,
And mervellit mekle of his makdome maid;
‘Waddin I am,’ quod he, ‘and woundir wicht,
with bran as bair, and breist burly and braid;
na growme on ground my gairdone may degraid,
nor of my pith may pair of wirth a prene;
My face is fair, my fegour will not faid:
O yowith, be glaid in to thy flowris grene.’

Aige.
This senyeour sang bot with a sobir stevin;
schakand his berd, he said, ‘my bairne, lat be;
I was within thir sextie yeiris and sevin
Ane freik on fold, als forss and als fre,
als glaid, als gay, als ying, als yaip as yie;
Bot now tha dayis ourdrevin ar & done;
Luke thow my laikly luking gif I lie:
O yowth, thy flowris fadis fellone sone.’

Yowth.
Ane uthir verss yit this yungman cowth sing:
‘At luvis law a quhyle I think to leit,
In court to cramp clenely in my clething,
And luke amangis thir lusty ladeis sweit;
of mariage to mell with mowthis meit,
In secreit place, quhair we ma not be sene,
And so with birdis blythly my bailis beit:
O yowth,’ &c.

Aige.
This awstrene greif anssuerit angirly:
‘for thy cramping thow salt baith cruke & cowre;
Thy fleschely lust thow salt also defy,
and pane the sall put fra paramour;
Than will no bird be blyth of the in bouir;
quhen thy manheid sall wendin as the mone,
Thow sall assay gif that my song be sour:
O yowth, thy flowris fedis fellone sone.’

Yowith.
This mirry man of mirth yit movit moir:
‘My corps is clene withowt corruptioun,
My self is sound, but seiknes or but soir,
My wittis fyve in dew proportioun,
My Curage is of clene complexioun,
My hairt is haill, my levar, & my splene;
Thairfoir to reid this roll I haif no ressoun:
O yowth,’ &c.

Aige.
The bevar hoir said to this berly berne:
‘This breif thow sall obey, sone be thow bald;
Thy stait, thy strenth, Thocht it be stark and sterne,
The feveris fell & eild sall gar the fald;
Thy corps sall clyng, thy curage sall wax cald,
Thy helth sall hynk, and tak a hurt but hone,
Thy wittis fyve sall vaneis, Thocht thow not wald:
O yowth, thy flowris,’ &c.