 | The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie |  |
123
LXVIII. LADYLAND TO EȜECH. MONTG.
Sir Icarus, ȝour sonet I haiv sene,Nocht ignorant vhose bolt that bag come fro.
Ȝe lent ȝour name to feght against ȝour frene,
Till one durst neuir avou him self my fo.
I mak a vou—and I heir ony mo
Such campillmuts, ȝe better hold ȝou still.
Ȝe crak so crouse, I ken, becaus ȝe'r tuo;
Bot I am dour, and dou not want my will.
Grou I campstarie, it may drau to ill;
Thairfore it's good in tyme that we wer shed.
My Bee's aloft, and daggit full of skill:
It getts corne drink, sen Grissall toke the bed.
Come on, good gossopis; let vs not discord;
With Johne and George ȝe must convoy my Lord.
| The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie | |