My hand hes hurt me to.
As fulisch Phaëton, be sute[1389],
His fatheris cart obteind,
I langt in Luiffis bow to shute,
Bot weist not what it meind.
Mair wilfull than skilfull
To flie I was so fond,
Desyring, impyring,
And sa was sene vpond[1390].
To late I knaw, quha hewis to hie[1391],