To the Richt High Lodvvik Duke of Lenox :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ye Damisels that are, baith trest and trew,
With wanton Venvs, se ye not repair,
The Ciprian dame, hes seruants ay anew,
To take pure virgins, captifis in the snair,
Be lang intisment, and by crafty cair:
And be perswasion of ane wicket wife,
Marke, how this maid, hath lost ane honest life.

Ye shame your selfis, and lossis all your seill,
With wickit company, fra time ye vse,
From Circes wisches, se ye keip you weill,
Quha be thair fraud, all lufers dois abuse,
Thair company, and fellowship refuse:
And se your eiris, of na wais be inclind,
To sick as be of the Canaces kind.

First fra ye enter, in that wanton trine,
It will appeir, for to be sum part dous,
Marke quhat sche hes resauid, for hir propine,
Debard and banist, from hir fathers hous,
Sen sick things, may comoue you to corous:
Exampill take by Cratanaminost,
Quha for hir lufe, baith kin and country lost.

Out of your mindis, expell this thocht profane,
That Cvpids hukis not enter in your heid,

Throw furious lufe, quhat number hes bene slane,
Als weil of men, as wemen we may reid,
Without suport, or any more remeid:
Throw furious lufe, quhilk of it self is fell,
Dispairdly Dido, did put down hir sell.

Sic michte motions, lufers hartis dois moue,
That nicht and day, thay troublit ar and pynd,
Siclik Charina, slew hir self throw loue,
Sic wes the madnes enterd in her mynd,
Lat not your eiris, to Cvpid be inclynd:
Considring quhat, he dailie dois subdew,
Thay happie ar, that can his snarris eschew.

For to behauld, the deidis of lufe ilk day,
The mindis of men, it wald mak for to muse,
And lykwais Sapho, slew hir self I say,
Becaus that Phaon, did hir lufe refuse,
The flamis of lufe, so did hir hairt confuse:
Sche hairtburne wes his bewteis til imbrace,
Be ressoun of the fauour of his face.

Cvpid, by craft, can vinqueis and ouercum,
The hairts of lufers, that ar euery quhair,
With bestly lufe; he blindis the hairtis of sum,
And makis thame for till fall into dispair,
Howbeid Queene Pasephe, lustie wes and fair:
Sche left hir housband quhilk wes wonderful,
For to conuers, with ane maist brutishe bull.

For to repeit this tail, my stomok grous,
Of Clitemnestra, that vnhapie hure,
Quho murdreist Agamenon, hir awin spous,
For fauour quhilk sche til Egestvs bure,
Grit punischment, sche dewlie did procure:
Becaus sche did so filthilie offend,
Maist miserabill wes hir wikit end.

To Cvpids counsall fra thou ans obay,
Thy carnall frends, thou drilie, bidis adew,
Fair Cillia, hir father did betray,
For Minos lufe, sik fauour sche him schew,
She wes not onely doubill and vntrew:
Bot lang time sche consceild it in hir mind,
How beid, it wes contrarius vnto kind.

We neid not for to muse, nor wonder than,
To se the hartis and mindis of lufers moue,
Evropa left Prence Atrivs hir gudman,
And with his brother Theast, fell in loue,
This Princes than, wes wordy of reproue:
Behauld, how sche hes vsid sick villany,
Without respect of consanguinity.

Pellopia and Mirra, I hard say,
Committit incest, as ye may consider,
Thir ladies fair, with thair awin fathers lay,
And carnally conioynd thame selfis togider,
To take the man, that married had thair moder:
With beistly lufe, thay haif mair blindit bene,
Nor modiwardis, that wantis baith sicht and ene.

I do regrait, thir stories are so rife,
The quhilk I do so copiously declair,
For Semeramvs, that wes Ninvs wife,
Incestuously lay with hir son and air,
Of wemens staits, I will incist na mair:
Except this wourd, quhilk present I expres,
How Canace, had hir brother Macares.

Wonder not of thir wemen, quhilk ye se,
Descriuit heir, into thair awin degreis,
Albeid, that men, the wichter veshels be,
Yit are thay subiect, to the same diseis,
This wanton dame, halds lufers at vaneis:

As be exampill, I sall plainly proue,
Duchtie Achilles, deit throw feruent loue.

To se the harts, of lufers so forlorne,
It wald make men for feir, to grudge and greue,
Bernardo, quho wes ane Italian borne,
For lufe of Lacon, did his life bereue,
To lie with hir, becaus he gat not leue:
This furious fule, him slew incontinent,
Becaus he culd not cum to his intent.

Quhair raging lufe, intil a hart dois ring,
It wantis respect of honour and renoun,
We read, of Artemenivs the King,
Ravinas husband, quho did murdres doun,
Onely to lie with hir, and play the loun:
This Artemenivs sumtime king of Spaine,
For his reward, wes with the wild bests slaine.

Marke and behold, quhat blindnes hes bene heir,
Concerning silly pure Narcissvs cace,
Quho past vnto ane spring of water cleir,
Quhair he beheld, the shadow of his face,
Faine he desird, that figure till imbrace:
Beleuing na wais, that it was him sell,
And so for lufe, he died beside the well.

Mair blindnes, did this curious crafts man moue,
Quhois laud and fame, liuis into mony lands,
Pigmalion with the Pictur fell in loue,
Quhilk he had portrait, with his awin twa hands,
Howbeid this image, as ane Idole stands:
With blindit lufe, this man so far wes led,
That it lay nichtly with him in the bed.

The duchtie, and maist manly Damiovn,
Wes pynd with lufe, and sine deid in dispair,

And Hercvles, quho maid escamioun,
Of Demera, for Yole so fair,
Of campions stout, king Cvpid takis na cair:
Thocht Samson wes of fortitude maist frack,
Yit Venvs, wes the wite of all his wrack.

In na kyn stait, so far as I can ken,
Bot Venvs is, ay reddie til intise,
For sumtimes, sche bereues the wits of men,
That are esteimd, to be maist sage and wise,
Spy, how the harts of men, sche can surprise:
For Socrates with flams of lufe aflocht,
Maist ardently, Sosias lufe besocht.

Sche gides the harts, of mene men and of grit,
And be hir menes, sche mony brings to baill,
Avrelivs als, ane michtie man of wit,
With lufe of ladies, wes inflamd alhail,
And syndrie times, he did thair lufe assaill:
Bot becaus, she wes fairest of thame all,
Martinas lufe, he socht in speciall.

Of caitife folks, howbeid, thair be gret store,
Ill with the gud, we aucht not for to deme,
Of wickit wemen, as I writ before,
So sall I now, the praise of sum expreme,
Pudicitie, is meikill til esteme:
Amelia, that virgin pure and leill,
From spot or blame, hir body keipit weill.

Happy are thay, can modesty meintene,
And ryn thair rink, into the richteous rait,
Lvcrece sicklike, that constant Lady schene,
Into hir time, liu'd in ane chaist estait,
Agains king Cvpid, sche maid sick debait:
He culd not hir, perswade to villanie,

And so sche wan, the crown of chastitie.

The fame sall leue, and for ane lang time lest,
Of sick as dois, demerit gud commend,
Dannat, the stait of chastitie profest,
And did obserue the samin to the end,
For by the gifts, that in hir corps wes kend:
She wes not onely chaist, as is indite,
Bot intill all hir actions, maist perfite.

Thisbe, sick lufe into hir brest did beir,
Without respect, quhat perrill wes to licht,
She met with Priam, hir awin husband deir,
At Ninvs tombe, into the feirfull nicht,
Behauld, gif that hir hart hes bene vpricht:
Quhat skaith micht cum of it, sche tuke na cure,
Sick wes the lufe, sche to hir husband bure.

Penelope, of patience maist strang,
Vlissis wife, that lady of gret fame,
Quho notwithstanding, of his absence lang,
Remaind maist constant, to his cumming hame,
Time to prolong, with sick as did hir clame:
The web, quhilk sche in day licht wrocht with pane,
Into the nicht, vndid it ay agane.

Lat sick beir blame, as drinks in Cvpids cap,
And of the vertuous, lat renoun reueiue,
Thocht sum be Crocadils in Venvs schap,
Yit sum thair be, quhois fame for ay sall leiue,
As did this dame, quho weill hir web culd weiue:
The vertuous damis, sall liue in laud and fame,
Bot the dishonest, sall resaue a schame.

Thocht thair wes sum, that rashly zeid about,
Throw furious lufe, thame selfis for to put doun,

Of gud men now, the prais I will pent out,
Quho for thair constant lufe, deserfis the croun,
The richteous, sall still flurish in renoun:
Albeid, that sum were whelps of Tygers kind,
Yit sum thair be, that better were inclind.

Marke gif this man, demerits gud commend,
Quho being, bot ane young adolescent,
Trew Troyelvs, wes constant to the end,
And in his lufe, wes na wais varient,
Bot still to ane, he keipit trew intent:
In barnely age, and puerilitie,
Ye may persaue, the spreit of constancie.

Happie is he, that hes a lufing hart,
To his halfe marrow, in an ernest sort,
King Priam keipit ane maist kindly part,
Vnto his spouse, as Poets maks report,
This I man say, in few wourdis to be schort:
Quhair discord dwels, quhilk lufe exiles alace,
Na grace can grow, nor plesour can haue place.

Theamphilvs, a natife borne Greik,
Quhois deith, be wemen aucht to be deplord,
Him cled in sackcleith, quhen his wife lay seik,
Vntill the time, God had hir helth restord,
His name and fame, aucht for to be decord,
Because, to fast and pray, he did not fache,
At euery time, quhen that sche tuke a brache.

I schew of sic, as into lufe did burne,
And of the patient, I haife spoken eik,
Bot to my former sudiet to returne,
Of Pamphilvs, I will a few wourds speik,
He is to lack, and scarcely with ane leik:
Quho hes not wyn his lufe throw cheualrie,

Bot be the menes of Macrels as ye se.

Gret prais pertenis, renoun and honour hie,
And in all pairts, thair laud and fame proceids,
That either wins thair lufis, ventoriouslie,
Or els, be martiall, and maist duchty deids,
Dispising sick, as out of bounds exceids:
As did Thesevs, of quhom, Virgil dois tell,
Quho for his lufe, descendit doun to hell.

Hero that lady, quho did harts allure,
And for hir fairnes, gat a gret renoun,
For lufe the quhilk, Leander till hir bure,
He venture tuke, to saill to Sectus toun,
The storme wes gret, and so he chanst to droun:
Thocht his pretence, wes for to win a fame,
His rasch attempt, is in a part to blame.

Hector, quho wes a magnanimious man,
Faucht for his lufe, with Lords of Lauine land,
And Haniball his lufe, and maistres wan,
Throw martiall deids, I mene, be speir and brand,
Thair honest acts, all men may vnderstand:
Quhairfoir, thir Knights, still flurishis in fame,
Bot Pamphilvs, resauis reproch and schame.

Stout Tvrnvs, did na skaith, nor danger dout,
To seik his lufe, amang the wild wood treis,
And Prince Enæ, baith valiant, wise and stout,
To Latin land, did nauigat the Seas,
Quhair he ariuid, according to decreis:
And for the mair performance of his vowis,
King Latins dochter, he did take to spowis.

Sume takis delite, for to make sturt and strife,
And godly interprises to preuent,

Allecto did seduce, king Latins wife,
That to that marage, sche suld not consent,
King Latins selfe, thairwith wes weill content:
And brocht that block to end, maist honorablie,
Albeid, Allecto thocht it suld not be.

Sum for thair vertew, wins ane nobill name,
And sum dishonor, for thair filthie factis,
Thir valiant Knichts, deseruis a worthy fame,
Be resoun of thair ventrous deids and actis,
Thay bair ane gud report, behind thair backis:
And specially, the Duke Androgion,
Quho for his maistres, saild to Magilon.

FINIS.