Now cumis Aige quhair Ȝewth hes bene, and trew Luve rysis fro the splene

Now culit is dame Venus brand ;
Trew luvis fyre is ay kindilland,
And I begyn to vndirstand,
In feynit luve quhat foly bene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew luve rysis fro the splene.

Quhill Venus fyre be deid and cauld,
Trew luvis fyre nevir birnis bauld ;
So as the ta lufe vaxis auld,
The tothir dois incress moir kene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

No man hes curege for to wryte
Quhat plesans is in lufe perfyte,
That hes in fenȝeit lufe delyt,
Thair kyndnes is so contrair clene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

Full weill is him that may imprent,
Or onywayiss his hairt consent,
To tume to trew luve his intent,
And Still the quarrell to sustene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

I haif experience by my sell ;
In luvis court anis did I dwell,
Bot quhair I of a joy cowth tell,
I culd of truble tell fyftene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

Befoir quhair that I wes in dreid,
Now haif I confort for to speid ;
Quhair I had maugre to my meid,
I trest rewaird and thankis betuene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

Quhair lufe wes wont me to displeiss,
Now find I in to lufe grit eiss ;
Quhair I had denger and diseiss,
My breist all confort dois contene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

Quhair I wes hurt with jelosy,
And wald no luver wer bot I,
Now quhair I lufe I wald all wy
Als Weill as I luvit I wene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

Befoir quhair I durst nocht for schame
My lufe discure, nor tell hir name ;
Now think I wirschep wer and fame,
To all the warld that it war sene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

Befoir no wicht I did complene,
So did hir denger me derene ;
And now I sett nocht by a bene
Hir bewty nor hir twa fair ene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

I haif a luve farar of face,
Quhome in no denger may haif place,
Quhilk will me guerdoun gif and grace,
And mercy ay quhen I me mene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

Vnquyt I do no thing nor sane,
Nor wairis a luvis thocht in vane ;
I salbe als weill luvit agane,
Thair may no jangler me prevene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew luve rysis fro the splene.

Ane lufe so fare, so gud, so sueit,
So riche, so rewthfull and discreit,
And for the kynd of man so meit,
Nevir moir salbe nor ȝit hes bene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew lufe rysis fro the splene.

Is none sa trew a luve as he,
That for trew luve of ws did de ;
He suld be luffit agane, think me,
That wald sa fane our luve obtene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew luve rysis fro the splene.

Is non but grace of God I wiss,
That can in ȝewth considdir thiss ;
This fals dissavand warldis bliss,
So gydis man in flouris grene :
Now cumis aige quhair ȝewth hes bene,
And trew luve rysis fro the splene.

Finis quod Dumbar.