Quhare-on the most part doith thair mynd addres
Inordinatlie, on houngrye covatyce,
Vaine glore, dissait, and uther sensuall vyce:
Bot tumlyng in my bed I mycht nocht lye;
Quharefore I fuir[557] furth in ane Maye mornyng,
Conforte to gett of my malancolye,
Sumquhat affore fresche Phebus uprysing,
Quhare I mycht heir the birdis sweitlye syng.
In-tyll ane park I past, for my plesure
Decorit weill be craft of dame Nature.