The bird, the best, the fisch eke in the see

So ferr I fallyng into lufis dance, That sodeynly my wit, my contenance, My hert, my will, my nature and my mynd, Was changit clene ryght in anothir kynd.

Beautee eneuch to mak a world to dote.

Worschippe, ye that loveris bene this May, For of your blisse the kalendis are begonne, And sing with us, “away, winter, away! Cum, somer, cum, the suete sesoun and sonne!”

Now was there maid fast by the touris wall A gardyn fair, and in the corneris set Ane herber grene with wandis long and small Railit about; and so with treis set Was all the place, and hawthorn hegis knet.

And therewith kest I doun myn eye ageyne, Quhare as I sawe, walking under the tour, Full secretly new cummyn hir to pleyne, The fairest or the freschest yonge floure That ever I sawe, me thoght, before that houre, For quhich sodayn abate …

The cristall water ran so clere and cold, That in myn ere maid contynualy A maner soun, mellit with armony, That full of lytill fischis by the brym Now here now there with bakkis blewe as lede Lap and playit, and in a rout can swym