Auld Reikiel thou'rt the canty hole, A bield for mony a caldrife soul, What snugly at thine ingle loll, Baith warm and couth, While round they gar the bicker roll To weet their mouth.

Couth, couthy, sociable, affable.

The abbesse, and the nonnes all, Fair him grette in the guest-hall; And damsel Frain, so fair of mouth, Grette him fair, as she well couth.

Well couth he wayle his Woes, and lightly slake The flames which love within his heart had bredd, And tell us mery tales to keepe us wake

Tho couth I sing of love, and tune my pype Unto my plaintive pleas in verses made: Tho would I seeke for Queene-apples unrype, To give my Rosalind; and in Sommer shade Dight gaudy Girlonds was my common trade, To crowne her golden locks: but yeeres more rype, And losse of her, whose love as lyfe I wayd, Those weary wanton toyes away dyd wype.