To ane grit court-man I did speir[1146], That I trowit my friend had bene Becaus we war of kyn sa neir; To him my mater I did mene[1147]; Bot, with disdene, He fled as I had done him tene[1148], And wald nocht byd my taill to heir.
I wend[1149] that he in word and deid For me, his kynsman, sould have wrocht; Bot to my speiche he tuke na heid; Neirnes of blude he sett at nocht. Than weill I thocht Quhan I for sibnes[1150] to him socht[1151] It wes the wrang way that I geid[1152].
My hand I put into my sleif, And furthe of it ane purs I drew, And said I brocht it him to geif[1153]. Bayth gold and silver I him schew; Than he did rew That he unkindlie me misknew; And hint[1154] the purs fest in his neif.[1155]
Fra tyme he gat the purs in hand He kyndlie ‘Cousin’ callit me, And baid me gar him understand My buseness all haillalie, And swair that he My trew and faythfull friend sould be In courte as I pleis him command.
For quhilk, better it is, I trow; Into the courte to get supplé[1156], To have ane purs of fyne gold fow[1157], Nor to the hiest of degre Of kyn to be. Sa alteris our nobilitie: Grit kynrent[1158] helpis lytill now.
Thairfoir, my freindis, gif ye will mak All courte men youris as ye wald, Gude gold and silver with you tak; Than to get help ye may be bald; For it is tauld Kyndness of courte is coft and sald[1159]; Neirnes of kyn na-thing thai rak[1160].
ON THE FOLYE OF ANE AULD MANIS MARYAND ANE YOUNG WOMAN.
Amang all folleis ane great folye I find, Quhen that ane man past fyftie yeir of aige That in his vaine consait he growes sa blind As for to join him-selffe in maryage With ane young lass quhais bluid is yet in raige, Thinkand that he may serve hir appetyte; Quhilk and he faill than[1161] will scho him dispyte.
Still ageit men sould jois[1162] in morall taillis, And nocht in taillis: for folye is to mary Fra tyme that baith thair strenthe and nature faillis, And tak ane wyf to bring him-selffe in tarye[1163]; For fresche Maii and cauld Januarij Agreeis nocht upon ane sang in tune, The tribbill wantis that sould be sang abune[1164].
Men sould tak voyage at the larkis sang, And nocht at evin quhen passit is the day. Efter mid-age the luifar[1165] lyes full lang, Quhen that his hair is turnit lyart[1166] gray. Ane auld beird till ane quhyte mouth to lay In-to ane bed, it is ane piteous sycht: The ane cryes help! the uther hes no mycht.