Sonet

Fra bank to bank, fra wood to wood I rin,

Ourhailit with my feeble fantasie;

Like til a leaf that fallis from a tree,

Or til a reed ourblawin with the win.

Twa gods guides me: the ane of tham is blin,

Yea and a bairn brocht up in vanitie;

The next a wife ingenrit of the sea,

And lichter nor a dauphin with her fin.