Classic Poem

Up, helsum hairt! thy rutis rais, and lowp;
Exalt and clym within my breist in staige;
Art thou nocht wantoun, haill, & in gud howp,
Fermit in grace and free of all thirlaige,
Bathing in bliss, and sett in hie curaige?
Braisit in joy, no falt may the affray,
Having thy ladeis hart as heretaige
In blenche ferme for ane sallat every May:
So neidis thou nocht now sussy, sytt, nor sorrow,
Sen thou art sure of sollace evin & morrow.

Thou, Cupeid, rewardit me with thiss;
I am thy awin trew liege without tressone;
Thair levis no man in moir eisse, welth, and bliss;
I knaw no siching, sadnes, nor yit soun,
Walking, thocht, langour, lamentatioun,
Dolor, dispair, weiping, nor jelosye;
My breist is voyd and purgit of pussoun;
I feill no pane, I haif no purgatorye,
Bot peirles, perfytt, paradisall plesour,
With mirry hairt and mirthfulnes but mesoure.

My lady, lord, thou gaif me for to hird,
Within myne armes I nureiss on the nycht;
Kissing, I say, my bab, my tendir bird,
Sweit maistres, lady luffe, & lusty wicht,
Steir, rewll, and gyder of my senssis richt.
My voice surmontis the sapheir cludis hie,
Thanking grit God of that tressour & micht.
I coft hir deir, bot scho fer derrer me,
Quhilk hasard honor, fame, in aventeur,
Committing clene hir corse to me in cure.

In oxsteris cloiss we kiss, and cossis hairtis,
Brynt in desyre of amouris play and sport;
Meittand oure lustis, spreitles we twa depairtis.
Prolong with lasar, lord; I the exort,
Sic tyme that we may boith tak our confort,
First for to sleip, syne walk withowt espyis.
I blame the cok, I plene the nicht is schort;
Away I went, my wache the cuschett cryis,
Wissing all luvaris leill to haif sic chance,
That thay may haif us in remembrance.