The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie Edited by James Cranstoun |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. | XLVI.
[DISPLEASUR, WITH HIS DEADLY DAIRT.] |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
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 | The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie |  |
XLVI. [DISPLEASUR, WITH HIS DEADLY DAIRT.]
Displesur, with his deadly dairt
So horriblie hes hurt my hairt,
With sik ane heid
That no remeid,
Save only deid,
Can cure my smart.
The poysond poynt me priks,
Quhilk in my stomok stiks
Profound;
Quhais venom rains
Thrugh al my vains:
No salue can mak me sound.
So horriblie hes hurt my hairt,
With sik ane heid
That no remeid,
Save only deid,
Can cure my smart.
The poysond poynt me priks,
Quhilk in my stomok stiks
Profound;
Quhais venom rains
Thrugh al my vains:
No salue can mak me sound.
I count not of my lyf a cute.
My hairt hes biddin sik rebute,
That it wald evin,
God knauis in hevin,
Wish to be revin
[Out by the rute.]
It is so crost with cair,
That it may nevir mair
Revive.
Cum thairfor, Death,
And cut my breath:
I list not longer live.
My hairt hes biddin sik rebute,
That it wald evin,
God knauis in hevin,
Wish to be revin
[Out by the rute.]
It is so crost with cair,
That it may nevir mair
Revive.
Cum thairfor, Death,
And cut my breath:
I list not longer live.
201
The Destinies my lyf despytis,
And bitter baill my bouells bytis;
These thrauard Thrie—
Curst mot they be
To martyr me!—
Laughis and delyts;
For they haif wroght my weird
Vnhappiest on eird,
And ay
Continues still
To work my ill,
With all mishief they may.
And bitter baill my bouells bytis;
These thrauard Thrie—
Curst mot they be
To martyr me!—
Laughis and delyts;
For they haif wroght my weird
Vnhappiest on eird,
And ay
Continues still
To work my ill,
With all mishief they may.
Hes hevins—hes erth—hes God—hes air,
Determinat that I dispair?
Hes all in ane
My contrare tane?
For me allane,
They ar too sair.
Sen thair is no remorce,
My patience perforce
Hes bene.
Of ills, I wse
The leist to chuse:
I may not mend bot mene.
Determinat that I dispair?
Hes all in ane
My contrare tane?
For me allane,
They ar too sair.
Sen thair is no remorce,
My patience perforce
Hes bene.
Of ills, I wse
The leist to chuse:
I may not mend bot mene.
Might my misluk look for relief,
Or ȝit doght I digest my grief,
Then wer I wyse,
It to disguyse;
Bot lo, vhair lyis
My maist mischief!
I smore if I conceill,
I wrak if I reveill,
My hurt.
Judge, ȝe vha heirs,
Quhat burthene beiris
My stomok, stuft with sturt.
Or ȝit doght I digest my grief,
Then wer I wyse,
It to disguyse;
Bot lo, vhair lyis
My maist mischief!
I smore if I conceill,
I wrak if I reveill,
My hurt.
202
Quhat burthene beiris
My stomok, stuft with sturt.
For, from Carybdis vhill I flie,
I slyde in Sylla, ȝe may sie;
I saill, it semes,
Tuixt tua extremis,
That danger demes
My ship sall die.
Nou, Sone, since I must smart,
Thou of my age that art
The staffe,—
Evin Mvrray myne,
Len me a lyne,
To end my epitaph.
I slyde in Sylla, ȝe may sie;
I saill, it semes,
Tuixt tua extremis,
That danger demes
My ship sall die.
Nou, Sone, since I must smart,
Thou of my age that art
The staffe,—
Evin Mvrray myne,
Len me a lyne,
To end my epitaph.
| The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie | |