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51                                        A Bequest of His Heart

HENCE, heart, with her that must depart,
    And hald1 thee with thy soverane!
For I had liever want ane heart,
    Nor have the heart that do is me pain.
    Therefore, go, with thy luve remain,
And let me leif thus unmolest;
    And see that thou come not again,
But bide with her thou luvis best.
Sen2 she that I have servit lang
    Is to depart so suddenly,
Address thee now, for thou sall gang
    And bear thy lady company.
    Fra she be gone, heartless am I,
For quhy? thou art with her possest.
    Therefore, my heart, go hence in high,
And bide with her thou luvis best.
Though this belappit3 body here
    Be bound to servitude and thrall,
My faithful heart is free entier
    And mind to serve my lady at all.
    Would God that I were perigall4
Under that redolent rose to rest!
    Yet at the least, my heart, thou sall
Abide with her thou luvis best.
Sen in your garth5 the lily quhyte
    May not remain amang the laif,6
Adieu the flower of whole delite!
    Adieu the succour that may me saif!
    Adieu the fragrant balme suaif,
And lamp of ladies lustiest!
    My faithful heart she shall it haif
To bide with her it luvis best.
Deploir, ye ladies cleir of hue,
    Her absence, sen she must depart!
And, specially, ye luveris true
    That wounded bene with Luvis dart.
    For some of you sall want ane heart
As well as I; therefore at last
    Do go with mine, with mind inwart,7
And bide with her thou luvis best!

1 hald: keep.

2 sen: since.

3 belappit: downtrodden.

4 perigall: made equal to, privileged.

5 garth: garden-close.

6 laif: rest.

7 with mind inwart: with inner mind, i.e. in spirit.

52                                             A Rondel of Love

   LO, quhat it is to love
   Learn ye that list to prove,
By me, I say, that no ways may
   The ground of grief remove,
But still decay both nicht and day:
   Lo, quhat it is to love!
   Love is ane fervent fire
   Kindlit without desire,
Short pleasour, long displeasour,
   Repentance is the hire;
Ane pure tressour without measour;
   Love is ane fervent fire.
   To love and to be wise,
   To rage with good advice;
Now thus, now than, so gois the game,
   Incertain is the dice;
There is no man, I say, that can
   Both love and to be wise.
   Flee always from the snare,
   Learn at me to beware;
It is ane pain, and double trane
   Of endless woe and care;
For to refrain that danger plain,
   Flee always from the snare.

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