beyn bot few exempil takis of othir,
Bot wilfully fallys in the fyre, leif brothir.
Be nevir our set, myne author techis so,15
With lust of wyne nor warkis veneryane;
Thai febill the strenth; revelys secrete bath two
Stryfe and debait engendris, and feil hes slane;
Honeste, prowes, dreid, schame and luk ar gane
Quhar thai habound; attempyr thame for thy.20
Childir to engendir oys Venus, and not invane;
Hant na surfat, drynk bot quhen thou art dry.
Quhat? is this lufe, nys luffaris, at ȝe meyn,
Or fals dissait fair ladeys to begile?
Thame to defowle, and schent ȝour self betweyn,25
Is al ȝour lykyng, with mony suttel wyle.
Is that trew lufe, gude faith and fame to fyle?
Gyf luf be vertu, than is it lefull thing;
Gif it be vyce, it is ȝour ondoyng.
Lust is na lufe, thocht ledis lyke it weill;
This furyus flambe of sensualite
Ar nane amouris bot fantasy ȝe feill:5
Carnale plesance, but syght of honeste,
Hatis hym self forsuyth, and luffis nocht the:
Thare beyn twa luffis, perfyte and imperfyte,
That ane leful, the tother fowle delyte.
Lufe is a kyndly passioun, engendryt of heyt10
Kyndlyt in the hart, ourspredyng al the cors:
And, as thou seys sum person waik in spreyt,
Sum hait byrnyng as ane onbridillyt hors;
Lyke as the pacient hes heyt of our gret fors,
And in ȝong babbys warmnes insufficient,15
And into agyt failȝeis, and is out quent;
Rycht so in luf thou may be excessyve,
Inordinatly luffand ony creature;
Thi luf alsso it may be defectyve,
To luf thine awin and geif of otheris na cure:20
Bot quhar that lufe is rewlyt by messure,
It may be lyknyt to ane hail mannis estait,
In temperat warmnes, nowthir to cald nor hait.
Than is thi lufe inordinat, say I,
Quhen ony creatur mair than God thou luffis,25
Or ȝit luffis ony to that fyne, quharby
Thi self or thame thou frawartis God remufis:
Fortil attempir thine amouris the behuffis:
Lufe euery wyght for God, and to gude end,
Thame be na wys to harm, bot to amend.
That is to knaw, lufe God for his gudnes,5
With hart, hail mynde, trew servyce, day and nycht;
Nixt luf thi self, eschewand wykkytnes;
Lufe syne thi nychtburris, and wyrk thame nane onrycht,
Willyng at thou and thai may haue the syght
Of hevynnys blys, and tyste thame not tharfra,10
For, and thou do, syk luf dowe nocht a stra.
Faynt lufe, but grace, for all thi fenȝeit layis,
Thy wantoun willis ar verray vanyte;
Grasles thou askis grace, and thus thou prayis;
Haue mercy, lady, haue reuth and sum piete!15
And scho, reuthtles, agane rewys on the:
Heir is na paramouris fund, bot all haitrent,
Quhar nowthir to weill nor resson tak thai tent.
Callys thou that reutht, quhilk of thar self ne rakkis?
Or is it grace to fall fra grace? nay, nay;20
Thou sekis mercy, and tharof myscheif makkis:
Renown and honour quhy wald thou dryfe away?
A brutale appetyte makis ȝong fulys forvay,
Quhilk be resson lyst not thar heyt refreyn,
Haldand opynyon deyr of a boryt beyn.25
Says nocht ȝour sentens thus, skant worth a fas,
Quhat honeste or renoun is to be dram?
Or forto drowp lyke a fordullyt as?
Lat ws in ryot leif, in sport and gam;
In Venus covrt, sen born tharto I am,
My tyme weil sal I spend. Wenys thou not so?5
Bot al ȝour solace sal return in gram,
Syk thewles lustis in byttir pane and wo.
Thou auld hasard lichour, fy for schame,
That slotteris furth euermar in sluggardry
Out on the, auld trat, agit wyfe, or dame,10
Eschamys na tyme in rovste of syn to ly!
Thir Venus warkis in ȝouthed ar foly,
Bot into eild thai turn in fury rage;
And quha schameles dowblis thar syn, ha fy!
As doith thir vantouris owthir in ȝouth or age?15
Quhat nedis avant ȝou of ȝour wykkytnes,
Ȝhe that beyn forcy alane in villans deid?
Quhy gloyr ȝe in ȝour awyn onthriftynes?
Eschame ȝhe not rehers and blaw on breid
Ȝour awyn diffame, havand of God na dreid20
Nor ȝyt of hell, provokand otheris to syn,
Ȝhe that lyst of ȝour palȝardry nevir blyn?
Wald God ȝhe purchest bot ȝour awyn myschans,
And war na banareris forto perych mo!
God grant sum tyme ȝe turn ȝou to pennans,25
Refrenyng lustis inordinate, and cry ho!
And thar affix ȝour luf and myndis so,
Quhar euer is verray joy without offens,
That all syk beistly fury ȝhe lat go hens.
Of brokkaris and syk bawdry quhou suld I write,
Of quham the fylth stynkis in Godis neys?
With Venus henwyffis quhat wys may I flyte,5
That strakis thir wenschis hedis thame to ples?
Douchtir, for thy lufe this man hes gret dyseys,
Quod the bysmeyr with the slekyt speche;
Rew on hym, it is meryte hys pane to meys:
Syk poyd makcrellis for Lucifer beyn leche.10
Eschame, ȝyng virgynys, and fair damycellis,
Furth of wedlok forto disteyn ȝour kellys;
Traist nocht al talis that wanton woweris tellis,
Ȝow to deflour purposyng, and nocht ellys:
Abhor syk pryce or prayer wirschip sellys.15
Quhar schame is lost quyte schent is womanhed;