A Rondel of Love

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,

Love is ane fervent fire

Kindlit without desire,

Short pleasure, long displeasure,

Repentance is the hire;

To love and to be wise,

To rage with good advice;

Now thus, now than, so gois the game,

Incertain is the dice;

Flee always from the snare,

Learn at me to beware;

It is ane pain, and double trane

Of endless woe and care;