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Ancient Scottish Poems, 1770; and James Sibbald in a Chronicle of Scottish Poetry, 1802, printed fifteen. There are three editions which are nearly complete. One by David Laing published in 1821; an edition printed for private circulation in Glasgow in 1882; and one by the Scottish Text Society, edited by Dr. James Cranstoun, which is by far the best of the three. There is also a modernized version of a number of the poems by William Mackean, Paisley, 1887.

I am bound to record my thanks to my friends, Alexander Morton, M.A., Kirkaldy, for the very valuable aid rendered in the preparation of this edition, especially in connection with the glossary, and James Pittendrigh MacGillivray, R.S.A., Edinburgh, for the drawings which decorate the volume.

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Fra raige of yowth the rynk hes rune

Haif hairt in hairt, ye hairt of hairtis, haill ...
Happie is hie hes hald him fre

Hence, hairt, with hir that most departe
How suld my febill body fure?

I mvse and mervellis in my mind

I wil be plane and lufe affane

In June the jem of joy and geme
It cumis yow luvaris to be laill
Ladeis, be war that plesand ar
Langour to leive, allace

Leif luve and lat me leif allone

Lo, quhat it is to lufe

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Lord God deliuer me, allace! ...

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Luvaris, lat be the frennessy of luve ...
Luve preysis, but comparesone

Marvilling in mynd, quhat ailis fortoun at me

May is the moneth maist amene

O lusty May, with Flora quene
Only to yow in erd that I lufe best
Oppressit hairt, indure

Quha is perfyte to put in wryt

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Quha lykis to luve, or that law pruve
Quhome sould I wyt of my mischance
Returne the, hairt, hamewart agane

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Rycht as the glass bene thirlit thrucht with bemis

Thair is nocht ane winche pat I se
That evir I luvit, allace thairfoir

The grit debait and turnament
Thocht I in grit distress

To luve vnluvit it is ane pane

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1

The Wryttar to the Reidaris.

Ye reverend redaris, thir workis revolving richt,
Gif ye get crymis, correct thame to your micht
And curse na clark that cunnyngly thame wrait,
Bot blame me, baldly brocht this buik till licht
In tenderest tyme, quhen knawlege was nocht bricht,
Bot lait begun to lerne and till translait

My copeis awld, mankit, and mvtillait;

Quhais trewth, as standis, yit haif I, sympill wicht,
Tryd furth, thairfoir excuse sumpairt my estait.

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