Classic Poem

In throu the windoes of myn ees —
A perillous and open pairt —
Hes Cupid hurt my hevy hairt,
Whilk daylie dwyn e s bot nevir dees,
Throu poyson of his deidly dairt.
I bad him bot to sey ane shot,
I smyld to se that suckling shute:
" Boy, with thy bou do what thou dou,"
Quod I, " I cair the not a cute."

" Fell peart" quod Cupid, " thou appeirs"
Syn to his bou he maid a braid
And shot me soon be I had said
Whill all my laughter turn'd to teirs.
" Now gesse," quod he " if thou be glaid;
Now laugh at Love, that pastym prove,
Am I ane archer nou or nocht?"
His skorne and skayth I baid them baith
And got it sikker that I socht.

Fra hand I freiz'd in flamis of fyre,
I brint agane als soon in yce,
My dolour wes my awin devyce,
Displesur wes my awin desyre.
All thir by Natur nou ar nyce
Bot Natur nou I wot not hou
Sho meins to metamorphose me,
In sik a shappe, as hes no happe
To further weill, nor yit to flie.

When I was frie I micht haif fled,
I culd not let this love allane.
Nou out of tym when I am tane
I seik some shift that we may shed
Becaus it byts me to the bane.
Bot pruif is plane I work in vane,
It war bot mouis thairat to mint
Fra I be fast that pairt is past,
My tym and travell war baith tint.

Micht I my Ariadne move,
To lend her Theseus a threed,
Hir leilest lover for to leed
Out of the laberinth of love;
Then wer I out of dout of deed.
Bot sho, alace, knauis not my cace,
Hou can I then the better be?
Whill I stand au my self to shau
The Minotaur does murdre me.

Go once, my longsome looks, reveill
My secrete to my lady sueet;
Go, sighs and teirs, for me intreet,
That sho, by sympathie, may feill
Pairt of the Passionis of my spreet,
Than if hir grace givis Pitie place
Ineugh; or covets sho to kill,
Let death dispetch my lyf, puir wretch!
I wold not live against hir will.