Classic Poem

Ane fair sweit may of mony one
Scho went on feild to gather flouris;
By come ane gymp man, thay calt him Johne,
He luisit that prowde in paramouris.
He sayis, " This hart of myn is youris;
" And ever hes bein, sen first I spy'd yow.
" I gang with yow within tua houris."
" In fayth, quoth scho, I may nocht byde yow. "

" Gif ye so chapit it were ane scorne,
" My hart gifs me with [the] to gang."
Sche sayis, " Cum: meit me heir to morne;
" Perhape ye may sum freyndschip fang.
" Do way, " quoth scho, " ye dwell too lang.
" Adew, my gude schir, God mot gyde yow.
" Now, be Sanct Bernarde, and ye [syng sang,]
" I say yow suyth I will nocht byde yow. "

[The morne] he came; he saw hir thair,
Still at hir tryst behind the toun;
Fair sueit wourds he spak to that fair;
And grapit hir out throw the goune.
And in hir eir begouth to roune,
" Deir, be Sanct Richard, I mon ryde yow."
" Ye ar sa lang in lowsing doun,
" The devil a bodie now may byde yow. "

He sayis, " My fair, quhair have ye ee?
" This werk richt wyslie man be wrocht."
Quoth scho, " To find us it may nocht be.
" Thoch we war with ane sleuth-hound socht.
" Allace this byding is deir bocht!
" For schame, " quoth scho, " for schame go hyde yow,
" I feil your lang thyng standis nocht:
" Now devil burne me and ever I byde yow! "