 | The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie |  |
XXII. [IN THROU THE WINDOES OF MYN EES.]
In throu the windoes of myn ees—
A perrillous and open pairt—
Hes Cupid hurt my hevy hairt,
Quhilk daylie duyns, bot nevir dees,
Throu poyson of his deidly dairt.
I bad him bot to sey ane shot;
I smyld to se that suckling shute:
“Boy, with thy bou do vhat thou dou,”
Quod I, “I cair the not a cute.”
A perrillous and open pairt—
Hes Cupid hurt my hevy hairt,
Quhilk daylie duyns, bot nevir dees,
Throu poyson of his deidly dairt.
I bad him bot to sey ane shot;
I smyld to se that suckling shute:
“Boy, with thy bou do vhat thou dou,”
Quod I, “I cair the not a cute.”
162
“Fell peart,” quod Cupid, “thou appeirs;”
Syn to his bou he maid a braid,
And shot me soon be I had said;
Quhill all my laughter turnd to teirs.
“Now gesse,” quod he, “if thou be glaid;
Nou laugh at Love, that pastym prove:
Am I ane archer nou or nocht?”
His skorne and skaith, I baid them baith,
And got it sikker that I socht.
Syn to his bou he maid a braid,
And shot me soon be I had said;
Quhill all my laughter turnd to teirs.
“Now gesse,” quod he, “if thou be glaid;
Nou laugh at Love, that pastym prove:
Am I ane archer nou or nocht?”
His skorne and skaith, I baid them baith,
And got it sikker that I socht.
Fra hand I freiȝd in flamis of fyre;
I brint agane als soon in yce:
My dolour wes my auin devyce;
Displesur wes my auin desyre.
All thir by natur nou ar nyce;
Bot Natur nou, I wot not how
Sho meins to metamorphose me,
In sik a shappe as hes no happe
To further weill, nor ȝit to flie.
I brint agane als soon in yce:
My dolour wes my auin devyce;
Displesur wes my auin desyre.
All thir by natur nou ar nyce;
Bot Natur nou, I wot not how
Sho meins to metamorphose me,
In sik a shappe as hes no happe
To further weill, nor ȝit to flie.
Quhen I wes frie, I micht haif fled;
I culd not let this love allane:
Nou, out of tym, vhen I am tane,
I seik some shift that we may shed,
Becaus it byts me to the bane.
Bot, pruif is plane, I work in vane,
It war bot mouis thairat to mint:
Fra I be fast, that pairt is past;
My tym and travell war baith tint.
I culd not let this love allane:
Nou, out of tym, vhen I am tane,
I seik some shift that we may shed,
Becaus it byts me to the bane.
Bot, pruif is plane, I work in vane,
It war bot mouis thairat to mint:
Fra I be fast, that pairt is past;
My tym and travell war baith tint.
Micht I my Ariadne move,
To lend hir Theseus a threed,
Hir leilest lover for to leed
Out of the laberinth of love;
Then wer I out of dout of deed.
Bot sho, alace! knauis not my cace;
Hou can I then the better be?
Quhill I stand au, my self to shau,
The Minotaur does murdr[e me.]
To lend hir Theseus a threed,
Hir leilest lover for to leed
Out of the laberinth of love;
Then wer I out of dout of deed.
163
Hou can I then the better be?
Quhill I stand au, my self to shau,
The Minotaur does murdr[e me.]
Go once, my longsome looks, reveill
My secrete to my lady sueet;
Go, sighs and teirs, for me intreet,
That sho, by sympathie, may feill
Pairt of the passionis of my spreet.
Than, if hir grace givis pitie place,
Ineugh; or, covets sho to [kill,]
Let death dispetch my lyf, puir wretch!
I wold not live aganst hi[r will.]
My secrete to my lady sueet;
Go, sighs and teirs, for me intreet,
That sho, by sympathie, may feill
Pairt of the passionis of my spreet.
Than, if hir grace givis pitie place,
Ineugh; or, covets sho to [kill,]
Let death dispetch my lyf, puir wretch!
I wold not live aganst hi[r will.]
| The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie | |