Into thir dirk and drublie dayis
Quhone sabill all the hevin arrayis,
Nature all curage me denyis,
This tragedie, the wedder richt fervent,
Of sangis, ballattis, and of playis.
Quhone that the nycht dois lenthin houris,
With wind, with haill, and havy schouris,
My dule spreit dois lurk for schoir,
My hairt for langour dois forloir,
For laik of symmer with his flouris.