Classic Poem

A SANG.

Declair, ye bankis of Helicon,
Parnassus' hills, and daills, ilkone,
And fontaine Caballein,
Gif ony of your Muses all,
Or nymphis, may be peregall
Unto my ladye schein?
Or if the ladyis that did lave
Thair bodyis by your brim,
So seimlie war, or [yit] sa suave,
So bewtiful, or trim?
Contempill, exempill
Tak be hir proper port,
Gif onye so bonye
Amang you did resort.

No, no. Forsuith wes never none
That, with this perfect paragon,
In beawtie micht compair.
The Muses wald have gevin the grie
To her, as to the A per se ,
And peirles perle preclair.
Thinking with admiratioun
Hir persone so perfyte.
Nature, in hir creatioun,
To forme hir tuik delyte.
Confes then, expres then,
Your nymphes, and all thair race,
For bewtie, of dewtie
Sould yeild, and give hir place.

Apelles, quha did sa decoir
Dame Venus' face and breist befoir,
With colours exquiseit;
That nane micht be compair'd thairtill;
Nor yit na painter had the skill
The bodye to compleit:
War he this lyvelie goddes' grace,
And bewtie, to behauld,
He wald confes his craft and sace
Surpast a thousand fauld.
Nor abill, in tabill
With colours competent,
So quiklie, or liklie,
A forme, to represent.

Or had my ladye bene alyve
Quhen the thrie goddessis did stryve,
And Paris wes made judge;
Fals Helene, Menelaus' maik,
Had ne'er caus'd king Priamus' wraik;
In Troy nor had refudge.
For ather scho the pryis had wone,
As weill of womanheid;
Or els with Paris, Priam's sone,
Had gone in Helen's steid.
Estemed, and demed,
Of colour twyis so cleir:
Far suetar, and metar
To have bein Paris' feir.

As Phebus' tress hit hair and breeis;
With angel hew, and cristall eeis;
And toung most eloquent.
Hir teithe as perle in curall set;
Hir lips, and cheikis, puinice fret;
As rose maist redolent.
With yvoire nek, and pomells round,
And comelie intervall.
Hir lillie lyire so soft and sound;
And proper memberis all,
Bayth brichter, and tichter,
Then marbre poleist clein;
Ferfyter, and quhyter,
Than Venus, luisis quein.

Hir angell voice in melodie
Dois pass the hevinlie harmonic,
And Siren's song most sueit.
For to behauld hir countenance,
Hir gudelie grace, and governance,
It is a joy compleit.
Sa wittie, vertcous, and wyis;
And prudent bot compair.
Without all wickednes and vyce:
Maist douce and debonair.
In vesture, and gesture,
Maist seimlie, and modest.
With wourdis, and bourdis,
To solace the opprest.

Na thing thair is in bir at all
That is not supernaturall,
Maist proper and perfyte.
So fresche, so fragrant, and so fair,
As Deis, and dame Bewties air,
And dochter of Delyte.
With qualeteis, and forme, divine,
Be nature so decoird,
As goddes of all feminine
Of men to be adoird.
Sa blissed that wissed
Scho is in all mens' thocht,
As rarest, and fairest,
That ever Nature wrocht.

Hir luiks, as Titan radiant,
Wald pers ane hairt of adamant,
And it to love alleur.
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 in hir handis;
And willinglie my hairt to bring,
To bind it in hir bandis.
To langwis in angwis,
Soir woundit, and opprest:
Forleitit, or treitit,
As scho sall think it best.

I houp sa peirles pulchritud
Will not be voyde of mansuotud;
Nor cruellie be bent.
Sa, ladye, for thy courtesie,
Have pitie on my miserie;
And lat me not be schent!
Quhat prayis have ye to be sweir,
Or crewellie to kill,
Your woful woundit prisoneir,
All youldin in your will?
All preising, but ceising,
Maist humlie for to serve.
Then pruif me, and luif me
As deidis sall deserve.

And, gif ye find dissait in me,
Or ony quent consait in me
Your 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 your pairt.
Or trap me, or wrap me
Maist wrangfullie in wo;
Forsaiking, and wraiking
Your servand, as your so.

Alace! let not trew amitie
Be quyt with so greit creweltie;
Nor service be disdaine!
Bot rather, hairt, be reuthfull,
And ye sall find me treuthfull,
Constant, secreit, and plaine.
In sorrow lat me not consome,
Nor langer dolour drie,
Bot suddanlie pronounce the dome,
Gif 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.