Alexander Montgomerie


Sonnet 39. To his Maistres. I


Bright amorous ee vhare Love in ambush [lyes] 
Cleir cristal 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 jou, the causers of my smarte,
As homiceids, and murtherers of my harte,
In Resones court to suffer ane assyse.

Bot, oh ! I fear, jea rather wot I weill,
To be repledgt je plainly will appeill
To Love, whom Resone never culd comm[and :]

Bot, since I can not better myn estate,
Jit, vhill I live, at leist I sall regrate
Ane ee, a teir, a sigh, a voce, a hand.






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