Classic Poem

Heigh in the hevynnis figure circulere
The rody sterres twynklyng as the fyre;
And, in Aquary, Citherea the clere
Rynsid hir tressis like the goldin wyre,
That late tofore, in fair and fresche atyre,
Through Capricorn heved hir hornis bright;
North northward approchit the mydnyght:

Quhen as I lay in bed allone waking,
New partit out of slepe a lyte tofore,
Fell me to mynd of many divers thing,
Off this and that; can I noght say quharfore,
Bot slepe for craft in erth myght I no more;
For quhich as tho coude I no better wyle,
Bot toke a boke to rede apon a quhile:

Off quhich the name is clepit properly
Boece, efter him that was the compiloure,
Schewing counsele of philosophye
Compilit by that noble senatoure
Off Rome, quhilom that was the warldis floure,
And from estate by fortune a quhile
Forjugit was to povert in exile:

And there to here this worthy lord and clerk,
His metir swete, full of moralitee;
His flourit pen so fair he set awerk,
Discryving first of his prosperitee,
And out of that his infelicitee;
And than how he, in his poetly report,
In philosophy can him to confort.

For quhich thogh I in purpos at my boke
To borowe a slepe at thilke tyme began,
Or ever I stent my best was more to loke
Upon the writing of this noble man,
That in himself the full recover wan
Off his infortune, povert, and distress,
And in tham set his verray sekerness.

And so the vertew of his youth before
Was in his age the ground of his delytis:
Fortune the bak him turnyt, and therfore
He makith joye and confort that he quit is
Off their unsekir warldis appetitis;
And so aworth he takith his penance,
And of his vertew maid it suffisance:

With mony a noble resoun, as him likit,
Enditing in his fair Latyne tong,
So full of fruyte and rethorikly pykit,
Quhich to declare my scole is over yong;
Therefore I lat him pas, and, in my tong,
Procede I will agayn to my sentence
Off my mater, and leve all incidence.

The long nyght beholding, as I saide,
Myn eyne gan to smert for studying;
My buke I schet, and at my hede it laide;
And doun I lay bot ony tarying,
This mater new in my mynd rolling;
This is to seyne, how that eche estate,
As fortune lykith, thame will translate.

For sothe it is, that, on hir tolter quhele,
Every wight cleverith in his stage,
And failyng foting oft, quhen hir lest rele,
Sum up, sum doun; is non estate nor age
Ensured, more the prynce than the page:
So uncouthly hir werdes sche devidith,
Namly in youth, that seildin ought providith.

Among thir thoughtis rolling to and fro,
Fell me to mynd of my fortune and ure;
In tender youth how sche was first my fo
And eft my frende, and how I gat recure
Off my distress, and all myn aventure
I gan ourhayle, that langer slepe ne rest
Ne myght I nat, so were my wittis wrest.

Forwakit and forwalowit, thus musing,
Wery, forlyin, I lestnyt sodaynlye,
And sone I herd the bell to matyns ryng,
And up I ras, no langer wald I lye:
Bot now, how trowe ye? suich a fantasye
Fell me to mynd, that ay me thoght the bell
Said to me, " Tell on, man, quhat the befell."

Thoght I tho to myself, " quhat may this be?
This is myn awin ymagynacioun;
It is no lyf that spekis unto me;
It is a bell, or that impressioun
Off my thoght causith this illusioun,
That dooth me think so nycely in this wis:"
And so befell as I schall you devis.

Determyt furth therewith in myn entent,
Sen I thus have ymagynit of this soun,
And in my tyme more ink and paper spent
To lyte effect, I tuke conclusioun
Sum new thing to write; I set me doun,
And furthwithall my pen in hand I tuke,
And maid a, and thus begouth my buke.