Ïðî÷èòàíèé :  146
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Òâîð÷³ñòü |
Á³îãðàô³ÿ |
Êðèòèêà
To a Lady
My hartis tresure and swete assured fo,
The finale endar of my lyfe forever,
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 thousand tymes that dois yow mercy cry.
Have mercie, luif, have mercie, ladie bricht.
Quhat have I wrocht aganis your womanheid
That ye suld murdir me, a saikles wicht,
Trespassing never to yow in word nor deid?
That ye consent thairto, O God forbid!
Leif creuelté and saif your man, for schame,
Or throucht the warld quyte losit is your name.
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 ovirpast.
Me think my spreit rynnis away full gast,
Beseikand grace on kneis yow befoir,
Or that your man be lost for evermoir.
Behald my wod, intollerabill pane,
Forevermoir quhilk sal be my dampnage.
Quhy undir traist your man thus have ye slane?
Lo, deithe is in my breist with furious rage,
Quhilk may no balme nor tryacle assuage
Bot your mercie, for laik of quhilk I de.
Allace, quhair is your womanlie petie?
Behald my deidlie passioun dolorous,
Behald my hiddous hew and wo, allace.
Behald my mayne and murning mervalous,
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?
Quhyte dov, quhair is your sobir humilnes?
Swete gentill turtour, quhair is your peté went?
Quhair is your rewthe, the frute of nobilnes,
Of womanheid the tresour and the rent?
Mercie is never put out of meik intent,
Nor out of gentill hart is fundin petie,
Sen mercyles may no weycht nobill be.
Into my mynd I sall you mercye cry
Quhone that my toung 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 soundir breik,
And quhill my mynd may think and toung may steir -
And syne, fair weill, my hartis lady deir!
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