Classic Poem

My hartis tresure and swete assured fo

1

My hartis tresure and swete assured fo,
The finale endar of my lyfe for ever,
The creuell brekar of my hart in tuo,
To go to deathe this I deservit never.
O man slayar, quhill saule and life dissever,
Stynt of your slauchtir, allace, your man am I,
A thowsand tymes that dois yow mercy cry.

2

Haue mercie, luif, haue mercie, ladie bricht.
Quhat haue I wrocht aganis your womanheid
That ye mwrdir me, a saikles wicht,
Trespassing neuer to yow in word nor deid?
That ye consent thairto, O God forbid!
Leif creuelte and saif your man, for schame,
Or throucht the warld quyte losit is your name.

3

My deathe chasis my lyfe so besalie
That wery is my goist to fle so fast.
Sic deidlie dwawmes so mischeifaislie
Ane hundrithe tymes hes my hairt ouirpast.
Me think my spreit rynnis away full gast,
Beseikand grace on kneis yow befoir,
Or that your man be lost for evermoir.

4

Behald my wod intollerabill pane,
For evermoir quhilk salbe my dampnage.
Quhy vndir traist your man thus haue ye slane?
Lo, deithe is in my breist with furious rage,
Quhilk may no balme nor tryacle asswage
Bot your mercie, for laik of quhilk I de.
Allace, quhair is your womanlie petie?

5

Behald my deidlie passioun dolorous,
Behald my hiddows hew and wo, allace.
Behald my mayne and mwrning merualous,
Withe sorrowfull teris falling frome my face.
Rewthe, luif, is nocht, helpe ye not in this cace.
For how sould ony gentill hart indure
To se this sycht on ony creature?

6

Quhyte dow, quhair is your sobir humilnes?
Swete gentill turtour, quhair is your pete went?
Quhair is your rewthe, the frute of nobilnes,
Off womanheid the tresour and the rent?
Mercie is neuer put out of meik intent,
Nor out of gentill hart is fundin petie,
Sen mercyles may no weycht nobill be.

7

In to my mynd I sall you mercye cry
Quhone that my tovng sall faill me to speik,
And quhill that Nature me my sycht deny,
And quhill my ene for pane incluse and steik,
And quhill the dethe my hart in sowndir breik,
And quhill my mynd may think and towng may steir —
And syne fair weill, my hartis lady deir!English