Classic Poem

Faine wald I, with all diligence,
Ane sang mak, plesand of sentence,
To everie mannis appetyte;
Bot thairin failyes my science.
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

For, thoch sevin yeir I war avysit,
And with my wittis all devysit,
Ane singulare thing to put in dyte;
It suld with sum men be despysit.
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

And thoch I say in generale,
Sum sall it tak in speciale;
And of sum folk I suld have wyte,
Quham I did never offend nor sall.
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

Wryte I of liberalitie,
Of gentrice, or nobilitie,
Than will thay say I flatter quyte;
Sa few ar of that facultie.
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

And, gif I wryte of wretchitnes,
Than is it war than ever it wes;
For thay will say that I bakbyte;
So thik that surname dois incres.
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

Wryte I nocht eftir all mens' mynd,
Suppois that pairt be evil inclynd,
The making is nocht wourthe ane myte.
Is nane so hable, heir to Ynde,
That estir all mens' will can wryte.

Grit danger is in the endyting;
Gif lytil rewarde be in wryting
Better war leif my paper quhyte,
And [tak] me to uther delyting.
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.