A Rondel of Love

By Nicholas Grimald

Lo, 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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