The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie :: :: University of Virginia Library

Declair, ȝe bankis of Helicon,
Pernassus hillis and daillis ilkon,
And fontaine Cabellein,
Gif ony of ȝour Muses all,
Or nymphes may be peregall
Vnto my lady schein?
Or if the ladyis that did lave
Thair bodyis by ȝour brim
So seimlie war or [ȝit] so suave,
So bewtiful or trim?
Contempill, exempil
Tak be hir proper port,
Gif onye sa bonye
Amang ȝou did resort.

274

No, no. Forsuith wes neuer none,
That with this perfyte paragon
In beawtie micht compair:
The Muses wald have gevin the grie
To her, as to the Aperse,
And peirles perle preclair;
Thinking with admiratioun
Hir persone so perfyte.
Nature, in hir creatioun,
To forme hir tuik delyte.
Confes then, expres then,
Ȝour nymphes and all thair trace,
For bewtie, of dewtie,
Sould ȝield and give hir place.

Apelles, quha did sa decoir
Dame Venus face and breist befoir,
With colouris exquiseit,
That nane micht be compared thairtill,
Nor ȝit na painter had ye skill
The bodye to compleit:—
War he this lyvelie goddes grace
And bewtie to behauld,
He wald confes his craft and face
Surpast a thousand fauld:
Not abill, in tabill,
With colours competent,
So quiklie or liklie
A form to represent.

Or, had my ladye bene alyve,
Quhen the thrie goddessis did stryve,
And Paris wes made judge,
Fals Helene, Menelaus maik,
Had neer causd King Priamus wraik
In Troy, nor had refudge;

275

For ather scho the pryis had wone,
As weill of womanheid;
Or ellis with Paris, Priams sone,
Had gone in Helens steid;
Estemed and demed
Of colour twyis so cleir;
Far suetar, and metar
To have bein Paris feir.

As Phœbus tress hir hair and breeis;
With angel hew and cristall eeis,
And toung most eloquent;
Hir teithe as perle in curall set;
Hir lypis and cheikis pumice fret;
As rose maist redolent;
With yvoire nek, and pomellis round,
And comlie intervall;
Hir lillie lyire so soft and sound,
And proper memberis all;
Bayth brichter and tichter
Then marbre poleist clein;
Perfyter and quhyter
Then Venus, luiffes quein.

Hir angell voice in melodie
Dois pass the hevinlie harmonie,
And Sirens songe most sueit;
For to behauld hir countenance,
Hir gudelie grace and governance,
It is a joy compleit;
Sa wittie, verteous, and wyis,
And prudent but compair;
Without all wickednes and vyce,
Maist douce and debonair:

276

In vesture and gesture
Maist seimlie and modest;
With wourdis and bourdis
To solace the opprest.

Na thing thair is in hir at all
That is not supernaturall,
Maist proper and perfyte;
So fresche, so fragrant and so fair,
As Deës and dame Bewties air,
And dochter of delyte;
With qualeteis and forme devine
Be nature so decoird,
As goddes of all feminine,
Of men to be adoird:
Sa blissed that wissed
Scho is in all men's thocht,
As rarest and fairest
That euer Nature wrocht.

Hir luikis, as Titan radiant,
Wald pers ane hairt of adamant,
And it to love alluire;
Hir birning beawtie dois embrayis
My breist, and all my mind amayis,
And bodye haill combuire.
I have no schift bot to resing
All power into hir handis,
And willinglie my hairt to bring
To bind it in hir bandis;
To langwiss in angwiss,
Soir woundit and opprest,
Forleitit, or treitit,
As scho sall think it best.

277

I houp sa peirles pulchritud
Will not be voyde of mansuetud,
Nor cruellie be bent;
Sa, ladye, for thy courtesie,
Have pitie on my miserie,
And lat me not be schent.
Quhat prayis have ȝe to be seueir,
Or cruellie to kill
Ȝour wofull woundit prisoneir
All ȝouldin in ȝour will;
Ay preising but ceising
Maist humlie for to serue?
Then pruif me, and luif me,
As deidis sall deserve.

And gif ȝe find dissait in me,
Or ony quent consait in me,
Ȝour bontie till abuse,
My dowbill deling be disdaine
Acquyt, and pay me hame againe
And flatlie me refuise;
Bot sen I mein sinceritie,
And trew luif from my hairt,
To quyt me with austeritie
Forsuith war not ȝour pairt,
Or trap me, or wrap me,
Maist wrangfullie in wo,
Forsaiking and wraiking
Ȝour seruand as ȝour fo.

Alace! let not trew amitie
Be quyite with so greit crueltie,
Nor service be desdaine;
Bot rather, hairt, be reuthfull,
And ȝe sall find me treuthfull,
Constant, secreit and plaine:

278

In sorrow lat me not consome,
Nor langer dolour drie,
Bot suddanlie pronounce the dome
Giff I sall leif or die;
That, having my craving,
Mirthfull I may remaine;
Or speid sone the deid sone,
And put me out of paine.

Finis.