Classic Poem

In mery May, quhen medis springis,
And foullis in the forestis singis,
And nychtingalis thare notis newis,
And flouris spredis on seir kin hewes,
Blew and burnat, blak and bla,
Quhite and yallow, rede alswa,
Purpit, bloncat, pale and pers,
As Kynd thame colouris gevis divers,
And burgeons of thare brancheis bredis,
And woddis winnis thare winfull wedis,
And everilk wy hes welth at waill,
Than ga I boundin all in baill
For ane, the lustyest that is wrocht,
That I have luffit, all lyke hir nocht,
Na never gat thing of my will
Bot tene, ay sen I tuik hir till,
Sa that my travell and my pane
I se weill all is set in vane.
For-thy I will set myne intent
To get lessing of my torment,
For to translait in Inglis leid
Ane romains quhilk that I hard reid,
Of amourus, armis and of droury,
Of knicht-heid and of chevalry.
For wise men sais, he that in wit
Settis his intent and followis it,
It garris him oft-tymes leif foly,
And all murning of musardy.