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

God saue you Venvs and your hail exces,
Our hope of helth in quhome we do espier,
That causis all things that are more and lesse,
for to gif place and yeild to thine impier:
The power of Captains quhen thou dois requier,
And michty monarchs seruis quhen thou commands
O godly Venvs spair I thee desire,
My simple vowis and supplicant demandis.

Be thou nocht hard, O Venvs I besiek,

My humble praiers see thou not neglect,
Bot graunt thou that quhilk I do sute and seike,
Seing the mater is of small effect:
Smal thing saide I, for so I did suspect,
Bot to me caitife muche thai ar as zit,
It is not harde to thee quha art elect,
To grant thir thingis, thocht thay wer twise so grit.

Gif thou wald grant and let my speich cum speid,
I wald be blist, and turne away to rest,
Sua suld all things weill prosper and succeid,
And turne to me in all things for the best:
Ane damisell neir hand me is adrest,
Quhome I mislike, that scho suld heir remaine,
Gif sche war absent, this I wald protest,
Sche wald releiue me meikil of my paine.

Nar fire ay vsis for to doe mair ill,
Nor fire quhairfra, folke may flee far abak,
Quhairfoir I seike your fauour and gud will,
For to releiue and helpe me in this fact:
Sche is estemit mair frolick fair and frack,
Nor all hir nichbours and hir fallow feirs,
I am desaiuit, and lufe is far to lake,
Gif sche surmount not far aboue hir peirs.

My inwert pains sche dois baith perse and prick,
With dolent darts, quhilk in me dois abide,
Thir dolent darts quhilk in my hart dois stick,
Na force of mine may thame remoue aside:
Quhairfoir al hours, ye euery time and tide,
The dolorous wounds molests me mony wais,
My colour and my strencth from me dois slide,
My bewtie als, decressis and decais.

This tale I keipit secreit and obscure,
Nocht schawing, quho maid first my woundis to beil,

Iust cause there was the sooth I you assure,
Quhilk me forbad the matter to reueill.
She is esteemit of nobler race and quheill,
Nor I, quhairto I schortly condiscend,
Whairfoir my secreitis now I will conseill,
Fering that sche my wourdis suld vilie pend.

In geir and ritches sche surpassis me,
Quhilk to be true richt weill I do consider,
For ritches oftimes seikis as we may see
Honour and tocher baith conioynit togither:
Suppose my ritches simple be and slider,
Yet honour and renoune with me remains,
Bot that quilk I may get or conqueis hider,
The same I get with diligence and pains.

Sen sche the dochter is as I suspect,
Of sum ritch berger quhilk inhabits heir,
Amangis a thousand ane sche will elect,
Quhome best sche lufes and greatest lufe dois beir,
My trembling members in my flesch dois feir,
To see hir forme quilk puts me in ane fyer,
Bot mony causis euident and cleir,
Forbids me plaine to tell of my desier.

Pride quhilk procedis of forme and wauering wittis,
Prouokis proud harts to follow furth that traine,
For pride I say not suffers nor permittis:
In modestie ye maistres to remaine:
I sailzit oft from thir flammis to refraine,
And from my hart with force thame till haife dung,
Bot lufe me vrgit ay mair and mair againe,
Quhen I begoud the same for to repung.

My misery ye may behold and se,
My dolour als is not to thee vnkend,
Thairfoir I pray thee present for to be,

And on my praier let thy lufe extend,
Venvs, to me na answer thou dois send,
Nor to my wourdis thou not inclines thine eir,
Thine christall eies on mine dois not discend,
Naither to me thy fauour dois apeir.

Take out the arrows that so swiftlie flies,
Out of my hart quhilk dois it breke and bruse,
Or els my woundis ze metigat and meis,
Conforme vnto the fashioun quilk ye vse,
Quha can susteine the care and great confuse,
Of so grete labours and sic strange intents,
Quhat care is it that walde rewardes refuse,
Vnto the murning maister that laments.

I schaw thir things so that ye may perceaue,
Quhat carefull dolour all my courage clokes,
The griefe and dolour quhilk I do conceiue,
To ardent praiers daily me prouokes.