Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness,
Delight some lily of ev’ry lustiness
Richest in bounty, and in beauty clear
And ev’ry virtue that is held most dear,
Except only that ye are merciless.

Into your garth this day I did pursue,
There saw I floeris that were fresh of hue,
Baith white and reid maist lusty were to seen,
and hale some herbis up on stalk is green:
Yet leaf nor floe’er find could I nane of rue.

I doubt that Merch with his cauld blast is keen,
Has slain that gentle herb that I of mean,
Whose piteous death does to my hert sic pain
That I would mak to plant his root again,
Sae comfort and his leaves unto me been.