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Though some set more by things of nought
Than by the Lord that all hath wrought,

Blame not my lute.

Blame not my lute I you desire,

But blame the cause that we thus play:
For burning heat blame not the fire,

But him that bloweth the coal alway.
Blame ye the cause, blame ye not us;
That we men's faults have touched thus,

Blame not my lute.

A DITTY, To be sung of musicians in the morning, at their lord

or master's chamber door, or elsewhere of him to be heard.

[Abridged from seven stanzas.]

The dawning day begins to glare,

And Lucifer doth shine on high ;
And saith that Phæbus doth prepare

To shew himself immediately.

And the most dark tenebrous night

Is fain to flee and turn her back,

Which can in no wise hide the light,

But bears away her mantle black.

Wherefore, in time let us avise,

And slothfulness do clean away ; Doing some godly exercise,

As servants true, whilst it is day,

Let us in no wise time abuse,

Which is God's creature excellent; All slothful sleep let us refuse,

To virtuous works let us be bent.

ALEXANDER SCOT.

This author, “ the Anacreon of old Scotish poetry (says Mr.

“ Pinkerton) began to write about A. D. 1550. His pieces “ are very correct and elegant for the age ; and almost all “ amatory. From p. 192 to 211 of lord Hailes's Collection « are seven of this poet's pieces, and in the Bannatyne MSS. “ are seventeen more, unpublished. He stands at the head er of the minor poets of Scotland.”

LAMENT WHEN HIS WIFE LEFT HIM.

To love unloved it is a pain;
For she that is my sovereign,

Some wanton man so high has set her,
That I can get no love again,

But break my heart, and nought the better.

When that I went, with that sweet may,
To dance, to sing, to sport, and play,

And oft-times in my armis plet' her,
I do now mourn both night and day,

And break my heart, and nought the better.

! Folded.

Where I was wont to see her go,
Right trimly passing to and fro,

With comely smiles when that I met her;
And now I live in pain and woe,

And break my heart, and nought the better.

Whatane a glaikit' fool am I,
To slay myself with melancholy',

Sen well I ken I may not get her?
Or what should be the cause, and why,

To break my heart, and nought the better?

My heart, sen thou may not her please,
Adieu! as good love comes as gaes ; ?

Go chuse another, and forget her.
God give him dolour and disease,

That breaks his heart, and nought the better.

OF WOMANKIND.

[Abridged from 13 stanzas.] I muse and marvell in my mind,

What way to write or put in verse,
The quaint counsels of womankind,

Or half their havings to rehearse ;
1 What a wanton fool.

• Goes.

I find their whole affection
So contrair their complexion.

For why? no leid unleill they kt;

Untiuth expressly they expell;
Yet are they plenish'd aud replete

Of falsehood and deceit theirsell ; *
So find I their affection
Contrair their own complexion.

They favour no ways foolish men,

And very few of them are wise ;
All greedy persons they mis-ken,

And they are full of covetise ;
So find I their affection
Contrair their own complexion.

They would have all men bound and thrall,

To them, and they for to be free;
They covet ilk man at their call,

And they to live at liberty:
So find I their affection
Contrair their own complexion.

They take delight in martial deeds,

And are of nature tremebund; · Suffer no unloyal person. • Themselves. VOL. II.

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