An Admonitioun to Young Lassis

A bony “No,” with smyling looks agane,
I wald ye leirnd, sen they so comely ar.
As touching “Yes,” if ye suld speik so plane,
I might reprove you to haif said so far.
Noght that your grant in ony wayis micht gar
Me loth the fruit that curage ocht to chuse;
Bot I wald only haif you seme to skar,
And let me tak it, fenzeing to refuse;

And warsill, as it war against your will,
Appeiring angrie, thoght ye haif no yre:
For haif, ye heir, is haldin half a fill.
I speik not this as trouing for to tyre;
Bot as the forger, vhen he feeds his fyre,
With sparks of water maks it burne more bald;
So sueet denyall doubillis bot desyr,
And quickins curage fra becomming cald.

Wald ye be made of, ye man mak it nyce;
For dainties heir ar delicat and deir,
Bot plentie things ar prysde to litill pryce.
Then, thoght ye hearken, let no wit ye heir,
Bot look auay, and len thame ay your eir.
For, folou love, they say, and it will flie.
Wald ye be lovd, this lessone mon ye leir;
Flie vhylome love, and it will folou thee.