To His Maistres (Bright amorous ee)

Bright amorous ee vhare Love in ambush [lyes]--
Cleir cristall tear distilde at our depairt
Sueet secreit sigh more peircing nor a dairt--
Inchanting voce, beuitcher of the wyse--
Quhyt ivory hand vhilk thrust my finger[s pryse]--
I challenge you, the causers of my smarte,
As homiceids and murtherers of my harte,
In Resone’s court to suffer ane assyse.
Bot oh! I fear, yea rather wot I weill,
To be repledgt ye plainly will appeill
To Love, whom Resone never culd comm[and].
Bot, since I can not better myn estate,
Yit, vhill I live, at leist I sall regrate
Ane ee, a teir, a sigh, a voce, a hand.