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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415851" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The King's Quire (excerpt)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">...<br> Bewailing in my chamber thus allone,<br> Despeir{.e}d of all joye and remedye,<br> For-tirit of my thoght, and wo begone,<br> Unto the wyndow gan I walk in hye,<br> To se the warld and folk that went forby;<br> As for the tyme, though I of mirthis fude<br> Myght have no more, to luke it did me gude.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Now was there maid fast by the touris wall<br> A gardyn faire, and in the corneris set<br> Ane herbere grene:--with wandis long and small<br> Railit about; and so with treis set<br> Was all the place, and hawthorn hegis knet,<br> That lyf was none walking there forby,<br> That myght within scarse ony wight aspye;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> So thik the bewis and the lev{.e}s grene<br> Beschadit all the aleyes that there were.<br> And myddis every herbere myght be sene<br> The scharp{.e} gren{.e} suet{.e} jenepere,<br> Growing so faire with branchis here and there,<br> That, as it semyt to a lyf without,<br> The bewis spred the herbere all about;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And on the small{.e} gren{.e} twistis sat<br> The lytill suet{.e} nyghtingale, and song<br> So loud and clere, the ympnis consecrat<br> Off lufis use, now soft, now lowd among,<br> That all the gardyng and the wallis rong<br> Ryght of thaire song and of the copill next<br> Off thaire suete armony, and lo the text:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>CANTUS<br> &quot;Worschippe, ye that loveris bene, this May,<br> For of your blisse the kalendis are begonne,<br> And sing with us, 'Away, winter, away!<br> Cum, somer, cum, the suete sesoun and sonne!'<br> Awake for schame! that have your hevynnis wonne,<br> And amorously lift up your hedis all,<br> Thank lufe that list you to his merci call.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Quhen thai this song had song a lytill thrawe,<br> Thai stent a quhile, and therewith unaffraid,<br> As I beheld and kest myn eyne a-lawe,<br> From beugh to beugh thay hippit and thai plaid,<br> And freschly in thaire birdis kynd arraid<br> Thaire fetheris new, and fret thame in the sonne,<br> And thankit lufe, that had thaire makis wonne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> This was the plan{.e} ditee of thaire note,<br> And there-with-all unto my self I thoght,<br> &quot;Quhat lyf is this that makis birdis dote?<br> Quhat may this be, how cummyth it of ought?<br> Quhat nedith it to be so dere ybought?<br> It is nothing, trowe I, bot feynit chere,<br> And that men list to counterfeten chere.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Eft wald I think; &quot;O Lord, quhat may this be?<br> That Lufe is of so noble myght and kynde,<br> Lufing his folk, and suich prosperitee<br> Is it of him, as we in bukis fynd?<br> May he oure hert{.e}s setten and unbynd?<br> Hath he upon oure hertis suich maistrye?<br> Or all this is bot feynyt fantasye!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;For gif he be of so grete excellence,<br> That he of every wight hath cure and charge,<br> Quhat have I gilt to him or doon offense,<br> That I am thrall, and birdis gone at large,<br> Sen him to serve he myght set my corage?<br> And gif he be noght so, than may I seyne,<br> 'Quhat makis folk to jangill of him in veyne?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Can I noght ell{.e}s fynd, bot gif that he<br> Be lord, and as a god may lyve and regne,<br> To bynd and louse, and maken thrallis free,<br> Than wold I pray his blisfull grace benigne,<br> To hable me unto his service digne;<br> And evermore for to be one of tho<br> Him trewly for to serve in wele and wo.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And there-with kest I doun myn eye ageyne,<br> Quhare as I sawe, walking under the toure,<br> Full secretly, new cummyn hir to pleyne,<br> The fairest or the freschest yong{.e} floure<br> That ever I sawe, me thoght, before that houre,<br> For quhich sodayn abate, anon astert<br> The blude of all my body to my hert.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And though I stude abaisit tho a lyte,<br> No wonder was; for-quhy my wittis all<br> Were so overcom with plesance and delyte,<br> Onely throu latting of myn eyen fall,<br> That sudaynly my hert became hir thrall<br> For ever, of free will; for of manace<br> There was no takyn in hir suete face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And in my hede I drewe ryght hastily,<br> And eft-son{.e}s I lent it forth ageyne,<br> And sawe hir walk, that verray womanly,<br> With no wight mo, bot onely wommen tueyne.<br> Than gan I studye in my-self, and seyne,<br> &quot;A! suete, ar ye a warldly cr{.e}ature,<br> Or hevinly thing in likenesse of nature?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Or ar ye god Cupidis owin princesse,<br> And cummyn are to louse me out of band?<br> Or ar ye verray Nature the goddesse,<br> That have depaynted with your hevinly hand<br> This gardyn full of flouris, as they stand?<br> Quhat sall I think, allace! quhat reverence<br> Sall I minister to your excellence?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Gif ye a goddesse be, and that ye like<br> To do me payne, I may it noght astert;<br> Gif ye be warldly wight, that dooth me sike,<br> Quhy lest God mak you so, my derrest hert,<br> To do a sely prisoner thus smert,<br> That lufis yow all, and wote of noght bot wo?<br> And therefor, merci, suete! sen it is so.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Quhen I a lytill thrawe had maid my moon,<br> Bewailling myn infortune and my chance,<br> Unknawing how or quhat was best to doon,<br> So ferre I fallen was in lufis dance,<br> That sodeynly my wit, my contenance,<br> My hert, my will, my nature, and my mynd,<br> Was changit clene ryght in an-othir kynd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Off hir array the form gif I sall write<br> Toward, hir goldin haire and rich atyre<br> In fret-wise couchit were with perllis quhite<br> And grete balas lemyng as the fyre,<br> With mony ane emeraut and faire saphire;<br> And on hir hede a chaplet fresch of hewe,<br> Off plumys partit rede, and quhite, and blewe;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Full of quaking spangis bryght as gold,<br> Forgit of schap like to the amorettis,<br> So new, so fresch, so plesant to behold,<br> The plumys eke like to the floure-jonettis,<br> And othir of schap like to the round crokettis,<br> And, above all this, there was, wele I wote,<br> Beautee eneuch to mak a world to dote.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> About hir nek, quhite as the fyre amaille,<br> A gudely cheyne of smale orfeverye,<br> Quhareby there hang a ruby, without faille,<br> Lyke to ane hert{.e} schapin verily,<br> That, as a sperk of lowe, so wantonly<br> Semyt birnyng upon hir quhyt{.e} throte;<br> Now gif there was gud partye, God it wote!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And forto walk that fresch{.e} May{.e}s morowe,<br> An huke sche had upon hir tissew quhite,<br> That gudeliare had noght bene sene toforowe,<br> As I suppose; and girt sche was a lyte.<br> Thus halflyng louse for haste, to suich delyte<br> It was to see hir youth in gudelihede,<br> That for rudenes to speke thereof I drede.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> In hir was youth, beautee, with humble aport,<br> Bountee, richesse, and wommanly facture,<br> (God better wote than my pen can report)<br> Wisedome, largesse, estate, and connyng sure.<br> In every poynt so guydit hir mesure,<br> In word, in dede, in schap, in contenance,<br> That nature myght no more hir childe avance.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Throw quhich anon I knew and understude<br> Wele, that sche was a warldly creature;<br> On quhom to rest myn ey{.e}, so mich gude<br> It did my wofull hert, I yow assure,<br> That it was to me joye without mesure;<br> And, at the last, my luke unto the hevin<br> I threwe furthwith, and said thir versis sevin:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;O Venus clere! of goddis stellifyit!<br> To quhom I yelde homage and sacrifise,<br> Fro this day forth your grace be magnifyit,<br> That me ressavit have in suich a wise,<br> To lyve under your law and do servise;<br> Now help me furth, and for your merci lede<br> My herte to rest, that d{&quot;e}is nere for drede.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+I+of+Scotland">James I of Scotland</a><div class=q>
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 Bewailing in my chamber thus allone,
 Despeir{.e}d of all joye and remedye,
 For-tirit of my thoght, and wo begone,
 Unto the wyndow gan I walk in hye,
 To se the warld and folk that went forby;
 As for the tyme, though I of mirthis fude
 Myg..."></div>
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