Fane wald I luve, bot quhair abowt ?

Fane wald I luve, bot quhair abowt ?
Thair is so mony luvaris thairowt,
That thair is left no place to me ;
Quhairof I hovit now in dowt,
Gif I sowld luve, or lat it be.

Sa mony ar thair ladeis treitis
With triumphand amowres balleitis,
And dois thair bewteis pryiss so he,
That I find nocht bot daft consaitis
To say of luve ; bot lat it be.

Sum thinkis his lady lustiest,
Sum haldis his lady for the best,
Sum sayis his luve is A per se ;
Bot sum, forswth, ar so opprest
With luve, wer bettir lat it be.

Sum for his ladyis luve lyis seik,
Suppois scho comptis it nocht a leik ;
And sum drowpis down as he wold die ;
Sum strykis down a threid bair cheik
For luve, war bettir lat it be.

Sum luvis lang and lyis behind,
Sum luvis and freindschip can nocht fynd,
Sum festnit is, and ma nocht fle ;
Sum led is lyk the belly blynd
With luve, wer bettir lat it be.

Thocht luve be grene in gud curage,
And be difficill till asswage,
The end of it is miserie :
Misgovemit ȝowth makis gowsty age ;
Forbeir ȝe nocht, and lat it be.

Bot quha perfytly wald imprent,
Sowld fynd his luve moist permanent,
Luve God, thy prince, and freind, all thre ;
Treit weill thy self, and stand content,
And latt all vthir luvaris be.