ALEXANDER SCOTT

��A Rondel of Love

T O, quhat it is to love

^ Learn ye that list to prove, By me, I say, that no ways may

The ground of grief remove, But still decay both nicht and day :

Lo, quhat it is to love !

Love is ane fervent fire

Kindlit without desire, Short pleasure, long displeasure,

Repentance is the hire; Ane pure tressour without measour ;

Love is ane fervent fire.

To love and to be wise,

To rage with good advice ; Now thus, now than, so gois the game,

Incertain is the dice ; There is no man, I say, that can

Both love and to be wise.

Flee always from the snare,

Learn at me to beware ; It is ane pain, and double trane

Of endless woe and care ; For to refrain that danger plain-,

Flee always from the snare.

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