 | The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie |  |
LX. [OF THE SAME.]
Had I a foe that hated me to dead,For my reuenge, I wish him no more ill
Bot to behold hir eyis, vhilk euer still
Ar feirce against me with so sueet a feid.
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His wish wold be, his cative corps to kill.
Euen Plesurs self could not content his wi[ll;]
Except the, Death, no thing culd him rem[eid.]
The vgly looks of old Medusas eyi[s,]
Compaird to hirs, ar not bot poets leyis;
For hirs exceids thame in a sharper sort:
The Gorgon bot transformit men in sta[nis,]
Bot she inflammis and freiȝis both at anis.
To spulȝie hairt, that minion makes hir sp[ort.]
| The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie | |