Faine wald I, with all diligence

Faine wald I, with all diligence,
Ane sang mak, plesand of sentence,
To everie mannis appetyte ;
Bot thairin failȝes my science :
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

For, thocht sevin ȝeir I war avysit,
And with my wittis all devysit,
Ane singulare thing to put in dyte ;
It suld with sum men be dispysit :
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

And thocht I say in generale,
Sum sall it tak in speciale ;
And of sum folk I suld have wyte,
Quham I did never offend nor sall :
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

Wryte I of liberalitie,
Of gentrice, or nobilitie,
Than will thay say I flatter quyte,
Sa few ar of that facultie ;
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

And, gif I wryte of wretchitnes,
Than is it war than ever it wes ;
For thay will say that I bakbyte ;
So thik that surname dois incres ;
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.

Wryte I nocht eftir all mennis mynd,
Suppois that pairt be evil inclynd,
The making is nocht wourthe ane myte ;
Is nane so hable, heir to Ynde,
That eftir all mennis will can wryte.

Grit danger is in the endyting ;
Gif lytil rewarde be in wryting,
Bettir war leif my paper quhyte,
And tak me to vthir delyting :
Thus wait I nocht quhairof to wryte.