In to thir dirk and drublie dayis,
Quhone sabill all the Hevin arrayis
With mystie vapouris, cluddis and skyis,
Nature all curage me denyis
Off sangis, ballattis, and of playis.
Quhone that the nycht dois lenth in houris,
With wind, with haill, and havy schouris,
My dule spreit dois lurk for schoir.
My hairt for langour dois forloir,
For laik of Symmer with his flouris.
I walk, I turne, sleip may I nocht,
I vexit am with havie thocht.
This warld all ouir I cast about,
And ay the mair I am in dout,
The mair that I remeid have socht.
I am assayit on everie syde.
Despair sayis ay, ‘In tyme provyde
And get sum thing quhairon to leif,
Or with grit trouble and mischeif
Thow sall into this court abyd.’
Than Patience sayis, ‘Be not agast,
Hald Hoip and Treuthe within the fast,
And lat Fortoun wirk furthe hir rage,
Quhone that no rasoun may assuage
Quhill that hir glas be run and past.’
And Prudence in my eir sayis ay,
‘Quhy wald thow hald that will away,
Or craif that thow may have no space,
Thow tending to ane uther place,
A journay going everie day?’
And than sayis Age, ‘My freind, cum neir,
And be not strange, I thee requeir.
Cum, brodir, by the hand me tak.
Remember thow hes compt to mak
Of all thi tyme thow spendit heir.’
Syne Deid castis upe his yettis wyd
Saying, ‘Thir oppin sall thee abyd;
Albeid that thow wer never sa stout,
Undir this lyntall sall thow lowt –
Thair is nane uther way besyde.’
For feir of this all day I drowp.
No gold in kist nor wine in cowp,
No ladeis bewtie nor luiffis blys
May lat me to remember this,
How glaid that euer I dyne or sowp.
Yit quone the nycht begynnis to schort
It dois my spreit sum pairt confort,
Off thocht oppressit with the schowris.
Cum, lustie Symmer, with thi flowris,
That I may leif in sum disport.