 | To the Richt High Lodvvik Duke of Lenox |  |
Anus speakis to Galathea.
Ane michty fire, can not remoue aside,
The licht, quhilk from the flamis dois gleme & sprout,
Nather can Venvs occultat or hide,
The awin desire, bot it behouis brek out:
The ordour of your maters round about,
To me are patent, as thame selfes apeirs,
Of quhilk things, quhen in mind I think or dout,
I scarcely can contene my selfe from teirs.
The licht, quhilk from the flamis dois gleme & sprout,
Nather can Venvs occultat or hide,
The awin desire, bot it behouis brek out:
The ordour of your maters round about,
To me are patent, as thame selfes apeirs,
Of quhilk things, quhen in mind I think or dout,
I scarcely can contene my selfe from teirs.
I knaw perfitly, as it war perqueir,
That ye twa lufis, not wisely nor derect,
The maters selfe, makis manifest and cleir,
The awin daft, and fulisch vaine effect:
The visage pale, declairs as I collect,
The quiet lufe, quhairwith the hart is greuid,
Baith hyd and hew, will alter and infect,
Without the same, with labour be releuid,
That ye twa lufis, not wisely nor derect,
The maters selfe, makis manifest and cleir,
The visage pale, declairs as I collect,
The quiet lufe, quhairwith the hart is greuid,
Baith hyd and hew, will alter and infect,
Without the same, with labour be releuid,
Pure Pamphilvs remains maist catif now,
In that estait, all hours abidis he so,
With ansers hard, his hart is persit throw,
That he molestit is, with greif and wo:
Baith nicht and day, vnwisely he dois go,
Wirken in wane, with labour all forlorne,
Hard manurid land, deliuers not it fro,
Gret store of seid, efter the same be schorne.
In that estait, all hours abidis he so,
With ansers hard, his hart is persit throw,
That he molestit is, with greif and wo:
Baith nicht and day, vnwisely he dois go,
Wirken in wane, with labour all forlorne,
Hard manurid land, deliuers not it fro,
Gret store of seid, efter the same be schorne.
Quha bot a mad man, of a wode degre,
Will seminat his seid, into the sand,
Wark vsis, mair acceptabill to be,
Quhilk bringis the gift, with the reward in hand:
Your bewtie first desaiuid him, quhilk he fand,
And secondly, your toung so smooth and ticht,
Stark lufe, hes woundit him, with Cupids brand,
To wit, your lufe bot, and your bewtie bricht.
Will seminat his seid, into the sand,
Wark vsis, mair acceptabill to be,
Quhilk bringis the gift, with the reward in hand:
Your bewtie first desaiuid him, quhilk he fand,
And secondly, your toung so smooth and ticht,
Stark lufe, hes woundit him, with Cupids brand,
To wit, your lufe bot, and your bewtie bricht.
Your helpe on him, ye promisd to bestow,
Bot yit his maladie, ye did not meis,
Quhairof, oft times sensine, on him did flow,
The greter dolor, and the mair diseis:
His sicknes wantis support, as all men seis,
And paine augmentis, without remorse or rufe,
Thocht ye your selfe, keip silence with gret eis,
Yit are ye hurt, with firie flamis of lufe.
Bot yit his maladie, ye did not meis,
Quhairof, oft times sensine, on him did flow,
The greter dolor, and the mair diseis:
His sicknes wantis support, as all men seis,
And paine augmentis, without remorse or rufe,
Thocht ye your selfe, keip silence with gret eis,
Yit are ye hurt, with firie flamis of lufe.
Lufe quhilk is keipit secreit, and conceild,
Bringis dolent deith, and als ane deidly hort,
And lufe I mene, quhilk na wais is reueild,
To baith your persouns, perrill dois import:
Consider than, with mind delibrat schort,
Quhat is your will, your mind for to content,
That this your speich, quhilk to me ye report,
May be ane takin, of your haill intent.
Bringis dolent deith, and als ane deidly hort,
And lufe I mene, quhilk na wais is reueild,
To baith your persouns, perrill dois import:
Quhat is your will, your mind for to content,
That this your speich, quhilk to me ye report,
May be ane takin, of your haill intent.
| To the Richt High Lodvvik Duke of Lenox | |