To luve unluvit it is ane pane;
For scho that is my soverane,
Sum wantoun man so he hes set hir,
That I can get no lufe agane,
Bot brekis my hairt, & nocht the bettir.

Quhen that I went with that sweit may,
To dance, to sing, to sport and pley,
And oft tymes in my armis plet hir;
I do now murne both nycht & day,
And brekis my hart, & nocht the bettir.

Quhair I wes wont to se hir go
Rycht trymly passand to and fro,
With cumly smylis quhen that I met hir;
And now I leif in pane & wo,
And brekis my hairt, and nocht the bettir.

Quhattane ane glaikit fule am I
To slay myself with malancoly,
Sen weill I ken I may nocht get hir!
Or quhat suld be the caus, and quhy,
To brek my hairt, and nocht the bettir?

My hairt, sen thou may nocht hir pleiss,
Adew, as gude lufe cumis as gaiss,
Go chuss ane udir and forget hir;
God gif him dolour and diseiss,
That brekis thair hairt and nocht the bettir.