University of Virginia Library


193

LVII.

Ten thousand tymes from syde to syde I turne,
and restles rowe as on a edge of thorne;
all thir cold nights I gant, I glow, and burne;
I wishe for day, yet languish quhil the morne;
and thinking all that quhyle I here a horne
annuncing that aurora dois appeire
to glad my harte by langour all forlorne,
and closed darknes of my eyes to cleire,
I mak thir verse, but light and beames perqueire,
not knawing yet the sequell of the same,
disturbd with youling hounds that hourlye beare,
and kekling crawes that semes my paynes proclame,
and aye crye off her quhose beutyes works my smart,
reuthe in thy eyes and rigour in thy harte.