Christen Lyndesay to Ro. Hudsone by Christian Lindsay with rough translation by flusteredduck

Oft haive I hard, bot ofter fund it treu,
That courteours kyndnes lasts but for a vhyle.
Fra once ȝour turnes be sped, vhy then adeu,
ȝour promeist freindship passis in exyle.
Bot, Robene, faith, ȝe did me not beguyll;
I hopit ay of ȝou as of the lave:
If thou had with, thou wald haif mony a wyle,
To mak thy self be knaune for a knaive.
Montgomrie, that such hope did once conceave
Of thy guid-will, nou finds all is forgotten.
Thoght not bot kyndnes he did at the craiv,
He finds thy friendship as it rypis is rotten.
The smeikie smeithis cairs not his passit travel,
Bot leivis him lingring, déing of the gravell.

Oft have I heard, but oftener found it true,
That courteous kindness lasts but for a while.
For once your turn be sped, why then adieu,
Your promised friendship passes into exile.
But, Robin, faith, you did me beguile;
I hoped of you of all the many:
If you had wit, you would have many a wile,
To make yourself known for a knave.
Montgomerie, that such hope did once conceive
Of your good will, now finds all is forgotten.
Though nought but kindness he did from you crave,
He finds your friendship as it ripens is rotten.
The smoky smith cares not for his past work,
But leaves him lingering, dying of the gravel.

From: Stevenson, Jane and Davidson, Peter (eds.), Early Modern Women Poets (1520-1700): An Anthology, 2001, Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 83-84.

Date: 1580/86

By: Christian Lindsay (fl. 1580/86)

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