The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse

CAP. XIV

Throu owt the flude merely salys Ene,And Palynurus drownys in the see.Glaidnes and comfort than, in to sum part,Begouth to kittill Eneas thochtful hart.Heys heich the cros, he bad, al mak thaim bown,And fessyn bonnettis beneith the mayn sail down.Than al sammyn, with handis, feit, and kneis,Dyd heys thar sail, and trossyt down thar teys:Now the le schete, and now the luf, thai slak,Set in a fang, and threw the ra abak;Baith to and fra al dyd thar nokkis wry:Prosper blastis furth careis the navy.Befor the laif, as lodis man and lard,And al his salis vp with fellon fard,Went Palynure; and hail the remanentWas chargit hald the sammyn cours and went.Be than, the donk nycht had run almaist evinHis myd cours or methis in the hevin,And euery maryner, but langar kepe,Thar bodeis restis with the plesand sleip,Endlang the hechis lyand heir and thar is,Or in thar hard settis lenand on ayris:Quhen that the swift God of sleip gan slideFurth of the starnyt hevin, by nychtis tide,And dyd away the dirknes of the ayr,Removing schadowit skyis maid al fair;Onto the, Palynurus, hes he socht,And the, al innocent, soroful slepis brocht.Heich in the eftschip dyd this God appeir,In figur of Phorbantus, a maryneir,And frendfully gan warp sik wordis owt:Jasyus son, Palynur, luke about;The sobir seys beris sownd our navy;The wyndis blawis ful evin and rycht makly:Thou may sovirly tak the ane howris rest,Leyn doun thi hede, and sleip, for that is bestThy wery eyn thou prevely withdrawFrom langsum laubour, and sleip a litil thraw;And I my self sal glaidly, in thi place,Beir thyne office, and steir a litil space.To quhom Palynur, skars liftand his eyn,Ansuerd and said; quhat thing wald thou meyn?Byddis thou me be sa nyce I suld mysknawThis calm salt watir, or stabil fludis haw?Wilt thou I traste this monstre perellus?Or quhat in wyndis sa dissaitful til ws,And this cleir hevin sa oft hes trumpit me,Wald thou I lippynnyt the maist nobil Ene?Sik wordis he said, grippand the helmstok fast,Lenand tharon, and by na way nor castWald part tharfra, haldand his eyn ful evinAy to behald the starnys in the hevyn.Quhen lo! this God smate bath his tymplis twaneWith a ful sleipry and bedyit grane,Wet in the myndles flude of hell, Lythe,And sowpit in Stix, the forcy hellys see:Hys glotnyt and fordovirrit eyn twoHe closyt hes, and sound gart sleip alsso.Bot scarsly gan the first rest of sleip,Or he was war, thus on his membris creip,Quhen on him lenys this God, and tho he kneld,And with a swak, as that the schip gan helde,Ourburd him kest amyd the flowand see,Richt al togidder with the helmstok of tre:Than al for nocht apon his feris he cryis.This God flaw vp lyke a bird in the skyis.And nocht the les the schip held furth hir went,As scho did ayr, throw the calm seys sprent,But ony harm, and al the navy sone,By the promys of the fader Neptune.With this almaste thai careit ar infeirOnto the rochis and skelleis weill neirOf Syrene, that we Marmadynnys clepe;Dangerus vmquhile, for a mekil hepeOf dede banys lay tharon ful quhite;So gan the salt jawpis ythandly smyteThe holl rolkis, maid a sownd ful hays.Quhen Prince Ene persauyt, by his rays,Quhou that the schip dyd rok and tailȝeve,For lak of a gud sterisman on the see,Him self hes than sone hynt the rudyr in hand,And throu the fludis steris the schip to land,Bewaland gretly in his mynde pensyfe,For that his frend was fal, and lost the lyfe.Allace! our mekil thou lippynnyt hes, quod he,Into the stabillit hevin and calmyt see:Bair and onerdit, in ane onkouth land,Palynurus, sal thou ly on the sand.Thus wepand said, and leyt his flote go large,Quhill at the last, baith ballyngar and bargeApon the cost, that hait Ewboica,Arryvit neir the cite of Cuma.Than to the streme thai turnyt thar forschip;Kest down thar bewchit ankyrris, ferm of grip,Into the raid; endlang the costis bayThar eft castellis gan mustyr in array.And al the ȝongkeris spedis hastelyOnto the schore of Hisperia fast by:Sum smytis fyre furth of the hard flynt stane;Sum spedely to the thik wod ar gane,In dern dennys, quharin wild bestis dwellis;And sum dyd schaw the new fund springand wellis:To beit thar mystir al bissy for the nanys,Sum to this turn, sum to that, start atanys.

THE PROLOUG OF THE SAXT BUKE

Pluto, thou patron of the deip Achiron,Fader of tormentis in thyne infernal see,Amyd the fludis, Stix and Flagiton,Lethie, Cochite, the watyris of oblivie,With dolorus quhirling of furyus sistyris thre,Thyne now salbe my muse and drery sang:To follow Virgil in this dyrk poyseConvoy me, Sibil, that I ga nocht wrang.Quhat wenys fulys this saxt buke be bot japis,Al ful of leys or ald ydolatryis?O hald ȝour pace, ȝe verray goddis apis!Reid, reid agane, this volume, mair than twys:Consider quhat hyd sentence tharin lyis:Be war to lak, les than ȝe knew weil quhat;And gif ȝou list not wirk eftir the wis,Heich on ȝour hede set vp the foly hat.All is bot gaistis and elrich fantasyis,Of browneis and of bogillis ful this buke:Owt on thir wandrand speritis, wow! thou cryis;It semys a man war mangit, tharon list luke,Lyke dremys or dotage in the monys cruke,Vayn superstitionys aganyst our richt beleve:Quhat of thir fureis, or Pluto that plukkit duke,Or cal on Sibil, deir of a revyn sleif?Wald thou I suld this buke to the declare,Quhilk war impossibil til expreme at schort?Virgil is ful of sentence our all quhare;Bot heirintil, as Seruius gan proport,Hys hie knawlage he schawis, that euery sortOf his clausys comprehend sik sentence,Thar bene tharof, set thou think this bot sport,Maid gret ragmentis of hie intelligence.In all his warkis Virgil doith discriveThe stait of man, gif thou list vnderstand;Baith life and ded in thir fyrst bukis fyve;And now, intil this saxt, we haue on hand,Eftir thar deth, in quhat plyte saulis sal stand.He writis lyke a philosophour naturall:Twichand our faith mony clausis he fandQuhilk beyn conform, or than collaterall.Schawis he nocht heir the synnys capital?Schawis he nocht wikkit folk in endles pane?And purgatory for synnys venyall,And vertuus pepil into the plesand plane?Ar al sik sawis fantasy and invane?He schawis the way, evir patent, down to hell,And rycht difficil the gait to hevin agane,With ma gude wordis than thou or I kan tell.Heir tretand vertu, taxis he pane for vyce,Feil woful turmentis of wrachit catyvis sary,Notabil histories, and diuers proverbis wyce,Quhilkis to rehers war our prolixt a tary:Althocht he, as a gentile, sum tyme vary,Ful perfitely he writis seir misteris fell,As quhou thir heithin childir thar werdis wary,Wepand and waland at the first port of hell.And, thocht our faith neid nane authorisingOf gentiles bukis, nor by sik heithin sparkis,ȝit Virgil writis mony just claus conding,Strenthing our beleve, to confound payan warkis.Quhou oft rehersis Austyne, cheif of clarkis,In his gret volume of the cite of God,Hundreth versis of Virgil, quhilk he markisAgane Romanys, til vertu thame to brod!And of this saxt buke walis he mony a scor,Not but gude resson; for, thocht Criste grund our faith,Virgil sawis ar worth to put in stor.Thay aucht not be hald vagabund nor waith,Ful riche tresour thai bene and precius graith:For oft by Sibilys sawis he tonys his stevyn;Thus faithfully in his Bucolykis he saith,The maide cummyth bringis new lynnage fra hevyn.As twiching hym writis Ascentyus;Feil of his wordis bene like the appostilis sawis,He is ane hie theolog sentencyus,And maste profound philosophour he him schawis,Thocht sum his writis frawart our faith part drawis:Na wondir; he was na cristyn man, per De,He was a gentile, and levit on payane lawis,And ȝit he puttis a God Fader maste hie.We trow a God, regnand in personys thre,And ȝit angellis hevinly spiretis we call;And of the hevinly wightis oft carpis he,Thocht he belevit thai war not angellis all.Quhil Cristis passioun, of Adam from the fall,All went to hell, thocht all war nocht in pane:Or Criste he wrait this buke, quhar reid ȝe sallDestinit in hell specialy placis twane.And principaly the sted of fell tormentis,With seyr departingis in that laithly hald;Ane other place quhilk purgator representis,And, dar I say, the Lymbe of faderis ald,With Lymbus puerorum, as I haue tald.Schawis he not eik, by werkis meritory,Quhou just pepil, in welthis monyfald,Raiosys, syngand sangis of hevinly glory?And, as he twichis greys seyr in payn,In blys, elike wys, syndry slagis puttis he.Quhat sal I of his wondir warkis sayn?For al the plesance of the camp Elyse,Octauian, in his Georgikis, ȝe may se:He consalis nevir lordschip in hell desyre,Bot evir in hevin, intil sum hie degre,To cheys his place, and not amang the fyre.Quhat cristyn clerk kouth hym haue consalit bettir?Al thocht he was neuer catholyk wight,He hes writtin ful mony attentik lettir.In that ilk buke he techis ws ful richt,The warld begouth in veyr, baith day and nycht;In veir he says that God als formyt man,The son, the mone, and all the starnys bright:We grant in veir that first the warld began.Happy war he knew the caus of al thingis,And settis on syde all dreid and cuyr, quod he,Vndir his feyt at treddis, and down thryngis,Chancis ontretabill of fatis and destane,All feir of ded, and eik of hellis see;Happy he callys sik wightis, and sa do I:Quhar may we swa optene felicite?Neuer bot in hevin empire abone the sky.Tyll write you all hys tryit and notabil versAlmaist impossibil war, and half invane,For me behuffyt repeting and rehersIn seir placis the sammyn wordis agane.This may suffice, I wil no mor sane:Ane movar, ane begynnar puttis he,Sustenys all thing, and doyth in all remane;And, be our faith, the sammyn thing grant we.I say nocht all hys warkis beyn perfyte,Nor that sawlys turnys in othir bodeys agane;Thocht we traste, and may preif be haly write,Our sawle and body sal anys togiddir remane.At thar bene mony Goddis I will not sane,Thocht haly scriptur just men, Goddis, clepe.Quhom call I Pluto, and Sibilla Cumane,Hark; for I wil na fals Goddis wirschepe.Sibilla, til interpret propirly,Is clepit a maid of Goddis secret preve,That hes the spiret divyne of prophecy.Quha bettir may Sibilla callit beThan may the gloryus moder and madyn fre,Quhilk of hir natur consavit Criste, and buyrAll hail the mysteris of the Trinite,And maist excellent wark had vnder cure.Thou art our Sibill, Cristis moder deir,Prechit by prophetis and Sibilla Cumane;Thou brocht the hevynly lynage in erd heir,Moder of God, ay virgyne doith remane,Restoring ws the goldin warld agane.Sathan the clepe I, Pluto infernall,Prynce in that dolorus den of wo and pane,Nocht God tharof, bot gretast wrech of all.To name the God, that war a manifest le;Is bot a God, maker of euery thing:I fauour nocht the errour of Manache.Set thou to Wlcane haue ful gret resembling,And art sum tyme the minister of thundring,Or sum blynd Ciclopes of thy laithly wra,Thou art bot Jovys smytht, in the fyre blawing,And dyrk fornace of perpetuall Ethna.Thou wrocht na thyng, bot maid thi self a devill,And that was not to mak, bot rather failȝe:For Austyn says, syn, myscheif, or evill,Is nocht at all: for quhy? thai nocht availȝe.The dym dongeoun of Ditis till assailȝe,Or in the lyknes this mysty poetry,Help me, Mare; for certis, vail que vailȝe,War at Pluto, I sal hym hunt of sty.

THE SAXT BUKE OF ENEADOS

CAP. I

Ene aspyis Dedalus wark expres,And with Sibilla spak, the prophetes.Qwil on this wys ilk man occupyit was,Reuthful Eneas bownys hym to pas,Onone to sers the strenth and tempil thoDedicat ontil the myghty Apollo;That feirfull gowsty cave far from the way,And secret hald of Sibilla the may;Quhais hait memor and resson oft infyritDelyus, the prophet divyne, and so inspiritThat scho the secretis fortocum did knaw.With this thai entrit in the hallowit schawOf the thrynfald passynger Dyane,And hows of brycht Apollo gold bigane.The fame is so, that Dedalus, the wright,Furth of king Mynos realm takand his flycht,Sa bald was with swift fedrame, and happyTo aventur hym self heich in the sky,And by a quent onvsyt way to knaw,Towart the frosty poil artik he flaw:Bot, at the last, softly he gan alichtOf Chalcydonys apon the castell hicht;And rendrit fyrst into thir landis, heOfferit and hallowit, Phebus, onto the,The fard and flycht of baith hys weyngis two,And thar grathit a fair tempil alsso.Apon the portis dyd he carve and graveAndrogyus slauchtir, falsly brocht to grave,And for hys deth the vengeance and the wrake;Quhou of Athenes commandit war, alake!Twys sevyn childir onto Creyt be send,Perpetualy ilk ȝeir, a fair presand:The dedly vrn stand porturat mycht thai knaw,Owt of the quhilk the lottis warrin draw.Forgane Athenes, a litil our the see,The ile of Crete he wrocht, musterand ful hie;The kingis cite thar hecht Gnosya;Quharin he porturit als ful, wallowa!The lufe abhominabill of queyn Pasyphe,Quhou pryvely with the bul forlane was sche:The blandit kynd, and birth of formys twane,The monstruus Mynotawr, doith thar remane,Ane horribill takin of schrewit Venus wark.Thar was alsso craftely schape and markThat namekouth hows, quhilk Laborynthus hait,Ful of wrynkkillit onreturnabil dissait.Bot, netheles, Dedalus, cawcht pieteOf the gret luf of fayr Ariadne,That was the kyngis douchtir, tawght ful rychtOf this quent hows fortil omdo the slycht;Quhou by a threid the subtell wentis ilkaneThai myghtin hald, and turn that way agane.And thou alsso, the ȝong child Icharus,Quhilk son was onto this ilk Dedalus,A gret part of this wark suld haue beyn thyne,Gyf that the dolour and the huge pyneHad sufferit hym to kyth his craft on the.In gold to grave thi fall twys etlyt he,And twys, for rewth, failȝeis the faderis handis.Eneas tho, and al at with hym standis,This sculptur al espyit had on breid,Ne war Achates, quhilk befor him ȝeid,Be than returnyt was, and with him brochtThe religyus woman quham thai socht,Baith consecrate to Dyane and Phebus,Hait Deiphobe, the douchtir of Glawcus;Quhilk to the king sone spak apon this wys:This tyme, quod scho, to stair and to devys,Govand on figuris, is not necessary.Mair neidfull now it war, but langar tary,Sevin ȝong stottis, that ȝok bur nevir nane,Brocht from the bow, in offerand brittin ilkane,And alsmony twyntyrris, as is the gys,Chosyn and ganand for the sacrifys.On this wys till Eneas spak Sibill;And Troianys tareis nocht forto fulfillHir commandment, that, but langar delay,The sacryfyis and offerand done haue thai;And syne the nun to the hie tempill thame brocht,Quhilk in maner of ane gret cave was wrocht,Of Cuma holkit in the hillis side.Ane hundreth entreis had it, large and wyde;Ane hundreth durris tharon stekit clos,Out at the quhilkis ruschit alsmony a voce,Gevand respons onto this Sibilla.Tho to the dur threswald cummyn ar tha,Quhen that this virgyn said: To ask answerisNow is the tyme; lo, lo, the God me steris!And as scho gan sik wordis say and cry,Without the entre standand, suddanlyNowdir vissage nor cullour, as thai war air,Remanys than, nor hir weil dressit hair;Bot fast hir breist the breth dyd clap and bete;Hir fers hart boldynnys vp ful grete,Enragit of the sprete divyne alsso,That of mair statur gan scho semyng tho;Hir voce ne sovndis lyke a mortale wight;For, with the goddis maieste and myghtTwichit and smyte, that drew hir mynde ful neir,Hir hart pipis gan to flekkir and steir.Blyn nocht, blyn nocht, thou gret Troiane Ene,Of thi bedis nor thi prayeris, quod sche;For, bot thou do, thir gret durris, but dreid,And grisly ȝettis, sal nevir warp on breid.And, with that word, scho cessit, and no mor said.The cald dreid gan the Troianys invaid,Thirland throu owt hard banys at euery part:The king hym self than inkirly from his hartMaid this oryson, and devotly said:O bright Phebus, that evir reuth has hadOn Troys hard aduersite and wo,Thow quhilk direkkit the Troiane dartis soIn Achillis body, schot by Parys hand;This see, at goys about mony gret land,Thou beand my gidar, entrit haue I,And eyk the wilsum desert land Masylly,Quhar the schald sandys strekis endlang the schor:Now at the last, that fled ws evir mor,The forther cost of Ital haue we kaucht,Thocht, hiddertillis, hard fortoun has omberauchtThe Troianys, and persewit onfrendfully.Now all ȝe Goddis and Goddessis, quham byVmquhile was thocht gret Ilion ful of joy,And the schynand gloryus town of TroySemyng resist and gaynstand ȝour godhede,Lesum it is to desist of ȝour fede,And now to spair the puyr pepil Troiane.O thou maist haly prophetes souerane,Quhat is to cum hes knawlage of all thingis,Grant at Tewcranys may dwel in Ital ringis;For I ne ask na land, nor realm algatis,Bot quhilk is grantit to ws by our fatis:Schaw, and declar for our goddis errand,That cachit bene our mony see and sand,Quhar sal thar resting place be to remane.So eftir that to Phebus, and Diane,Of sownd marbill tempillis beld may I,And festual days for Appollo gar cry.To the, alsso, within our realmys, salbeMony secrete closet and revestre,Quharin thi warkis and fatale destaneis,Thi secret sawis, and thi propheceis,Endite of my kyn and genolegy,I sal gar kepe and obserue reuerendly;And, O thou blissit woman, onto theWys walit men sal dedicate and sacre:So that thou write nocht on the levis thi wordis,For dreid al turn bot til a mok or bourdis,Gif that the wynd thame skattir and blaw away.Pronunce it with thyne awin mowth, I the pray.Tharwith he held hys pace, and said no mor.Bot than Sibill the prophetes, ful ȝorWithin the cave, as half enragit wight,Kouth nocht contene of Phebus the gret mycht;And evir the mair scho hyr enforcys ayThe gret God from hir breist dryve away,The mor he gan invaid hir and infest,Hir rageand mowth and fers hart, as him lest,Danting at wil, and forgeand hir sayngis:Scho was constrenyt to schaw al suthfast thingis.

CAP. II

The answeris and the wordys to and fraBetwix Eneas and this Sibilla.The hundreth gret durris of that hows, with this,At thar awin willis warpit wide, I wys,And brocht the prophetis ansuer to thar erys:O Eneas, that, eftir mony ȝheris,Now finaly hes dryve to end, quod sche,Sa mony huge gret dangeris of the see!Bot on the land, I tel ȝou al and sum,Far grettar perellis remanys forto cum.The Troiane pepill to the realm of LavyneSal cum; that is determyt be goddis dyvyne;Out of thi mynde sik dowtis do away:Bot forthirmor, I wil onto the say,Quhen thai the grond of Italy haue nummyn,Thai sal desyre neuer thiddir to haue cummyn.Batalis, horribil batalis, to conclude,I now behald, and Tibris, the gret flude,For gret habundance of blude on spait walx reid.Nowdyr Exanth nor Symois in that stedSal thou mys, nor ȝit the Grekis army.Thou sal befor the fynd in ItalyAne othir Achil, born als of a goddes:Nor Juno, Troianys persewar expres,Sal neuer mair failȝe in ȝour contrary.And quhen thou art thar, as thou waldbe cary,Of succurs and of help al desolate,Quhat pepill, and quhat citeis than, God wait,In Ital salt thou beseik of supple!Few sal remane onrequerit, trast me.The causys of al this myscheif and pane,Ane othir woman, a fremmyt gest aganeFor the Troianys, is to be spows and wed,A strange bride, or scho be brocht to bed.Withdraw the from na perellis, nor hard thrist;Bot evir infors mair strangly to resistAgane dangeris, than fortune sufferis the.Ȝour first reskew of succurs and suppleFurth of a Gregioun cite salbe schaw,Quhilk thou leste wenys, a wondir thing to knaw.Furth of hir secret closet, thus onane,Sik sawis warpis this Sibilla Cumane;Horribil answeris, ful dowtsum to consave,Quhar as scho sat rumysand in hir cave,In subtel wordis of obscuriteInvolupand the trewth and verite:For on sik wys Apollo hir refrenys,Bridillis hir sprete, and, as him list, constrenys,From hir hart pipis his fers brod withdrawing.As the divyne fury gan first sessing,And eik hir ragiand mowth begouth to rest,Devoyt Eneas begynnys als prest,And said: Virgyn, na kynd of pane may rysOnknaw to me, of new that may me grys:Or now I am warnyt of al sik chance,And hes thame rollit in my remembrance.Bot a thing I beseik the and requeir;Sen the entres and port, thai sai, bene heir,Of the infernal king, and the layk dyrkOf Acheron, gorgeit with fludis myrk;Thocht it be rycht difficil, ȝit grant meThai quent realmys I may behald and se,And cum onto my deir faderis sight:Thiddir the passage, and al ways rycht,Do teche me, and tha secret portis onschet.I hym delyuerit amyd from flambis het,And on thir schulderis careit him away,A thousand speris followand to assay,From myd ennymeis brocht him to salfte:In my vayage, accumpaneit with me,He went throu owt al seys and strange strandis,All maner perrellis of fludis, stremys, and sandis,And stormys of the hevin, thocht he was waik:He sufferit and sustenyt, for my saik,Ful huge pane, as he had beyn a page,Abufe the strenth and common curs of age.And forthir he me chargit, and gan beseik,To the, lady, I reuerently suld seik,And pas hiddir to thi sted and dwelling place.Haue reuth now, haly woman, schaw sum graceBaith to the son and fader, I requeir;For thou may do all thing, I wait, but weir:Ne not but gude resson, ful weil I knaw,Beside Avernus, our hir hallowit schaw,Proserpyn maid the patron and mastres.Gif Orpheus mycht reduce agane, I ges,From hell his spousis gost with his sweit stringis,Playand on his harp of Trace sa plesand springis;Or gif Pollux redemyt his broder Castor,As he that was immortal get and boyr,Partyng with him his immortalite,Athir for other sufferand forto de,That ych of thame, by coursis alternate,Sa oft gais and returnys that gait;Is it nocht anys lesum I pas that way?Of Thesyus quhat nedis mair to say,Or of the strang maste dowchty Hercules,Quhilk thidder went with sa gret fors and pres?Am I nocht eik discend from Jupiter?Sik prayer maid he, grippand the altar;Quhil thus begouth the prophetes speke agane:Of goddis blude, Anchises son Troiane,It is richt facil and eith gait, I the tell,Forto discend and pas on down to hell:The blak ȝettis of Pluto, and that dirk way,Standis evir oppin and patent nycht and day;Bot tharfra to return agane on hyght,And heir abufe recovir this aris licht,That is difficil wark, thar lawbour lyis.Ful few thar bene, quhom heich aboue the skyisThar ardent vertue has rasit and vphyeit,Or ȝit quhom equal Jupiter deifyit,Thai quhilk bene gendrit of goddis, may thidder attayn.Al the myd way is wildirnes onplayn,Or wilsum forest, and the laithly fludeCochytus, with his drery bosum onrude,Flowis enverom rownd about that place.Bot gif sa gret desyre and luf thou hasTwys til our sayll of Stix the dedly layk,And twys behald blak hellis pyt of wraik,Or sa huge laubour delytis the, quod scho,Harkyn quhat first behuffis the to do.Amyd a rank tre lurkis a goldin bewch,With aurial levis, and flexibill twystis tewch,Onto Juno infernal consecrate,That standis lowkit abowt and obumbrateWith dirk schaddowis of the thik wod schaw.Bot it is na wys lesum, I the schaw,Thir secret ways vndir the erd to went,Quhil of the tre this goldin grayn be rent:Fair Proserpyn hes institute and commandTo offer hir this, hir awin propir presand.Ane othir goldin grane, to the ilk effect,Thou sal nocht mys, thocht the first be down brek;Incontinent evir of the sammyn mettallSik a lyke branch sal burgion furth withall.The nedis, tharfor, to hald thine eyn on hight,It forto sers and seik; syne all at right,Quhen it is fund, thou hynt it in thi hand.For, gif it list, esely that sammyn wand,Of the awin will, sall follow thi grip fut hait,Gif so the fatis wil thou pas that gait;Or ellis be na strenth thou sal it ryve,Nor kut in twa with wapyn, sword, or knyve.And mair atour, beforn the in the place,At thou ne wait, of thi deyr frend, allace!Onerdyt lyis of new the ded body,That with hys corps pollutis al thi navy;The self tyme slane thow askand our answer,And in this place remanys with ws heir.First se that hym to hys lang hame thou haue,And, as efferis, gar bery law in graue.Til his funeral entyre, or sacrifys,Do bring the blak bestis, as is the gys:Lat tha be ȝour first expiationys,And clenging graith, eftir ȝour serymonys.So at the last, of Stix the cayrful schaw,And realmys wilsum for levand men to knaw,Thou sal behald. Quod scho; and tho gan ses,Hir mowth clappit togiddir, and held hir pes.

CAP. III

Of Mysenus entyrment at was slane,And quhou Eneas fand the goldin grane.Ene, with drery cheir, and eyn down cast,Levand the cave, furth on his way is past,And in his breste gan rollyng all on rawThir onkouth chancis, wondir strange to knaw.Achates, hys traste frend, furth by hym went,Ilk step and pays musyng the sammyn entent:Ful mony diuers sermondis betwix thame twoTalkand and carpand oft quhar as tha go;Dowtsum quhilk of thar feris this might be,The prophetes thame tald was done to de,Or quhat corps was this scho thame bad bery.And, as thai come apon the strandis dry,Thai gan behald, ligging in the ilk sted,Mysenus new slane be onworthy ded;Mysenus, Eolus son, nane mair cunnandOstis to assembill with brasyn trump in hand;That, with his sovnd and weirly blastis, oft sysThe martial curage maid in brestis rys.Sum tyme he was ane of gret Hectoris feris;About Hector evir hantit he the werys,Now blawing with his trump maste craftely,Now with a speir jonand hys mastir by:Eftir Achil reft him the lyfe in wer,Til dowchty Ene this forcy chyvalerAdionyt hes him self in falloschip,A man of na les prowes nor wirschip.Bot now, percace, with his boys trump as heWent onprowisitly blawand by the see,To stryfe prowoking the goddis with his springis,Gif it be lesum to trast sa schameful thingis,Triton the God, havand tharat dispite,Or he was war, him hyntis, and dyd smyteAmang the fomy rolkis law adown,And in the salt wallys the man gan drown.Quharfor about his corps with gret clamourThe Troianys stude murnand, and maid dolour;Bot principaly the rewthfull Eneas.Sibillais heste, as he commandit was,Tho sped in haist forto perform weping:For the sepulcre funerale fyre or byng,Ane hepe of treis thai pres onone to dycht,And vp onto the hevynnys rays on hight.Ontil ane ancyent forest socht thai then,Entrand in mony dern wild bestis den:Ful of roset down bet is the fyr tre;Smyte with the ax dyd rayr the akis hie;Gret eschin stokkis tumlys to the grond;With weggeis schydit gan the byrkis sovnd;The felloun elmys weltis down the hillys.Ene him self alsso, with ful gude willysInto sik warkis, with the first, al dayFor tobe bissy gan his feris pray,With loome in hand fast wirkand lyke the laif;And in hys breste gan to and fra consaif,Ful hevely, thir materis war betyde,Behaldand the large wod on athir syde,Thar as he stude thus makand hys prayer:Wald God ȝon goldyn branch list now appeir,And kyth the self to ws in this forest!Sen lo, al thing the prophetes exprestOf the, Mysenus, ar our trew, allace!Skars war thir wordis said, quhen, in that place,A payr of dowis fra hevin come with a flycht,And richt forgane the mannys face dyd lycht,And on the grene sward thar place tuke law.This rial prynce, alssone as he thame saw,His moderis byrdis knew, and blithly thanHys orison hes maid, and thus began:O haly fowlys, gif the way may be went,Be ȝe my gydis to compleit myne entent;Addres ȝour cours throu owt the ayr in hyOnto that haly schaw, with soyl myghty,Quhar as that rych branch the grond ourheildis.And ȝe, my blissit moder, that our beild isInto this dowtsum cace, be nocht away;I ȝou beseik be favorabil to our way.And prayand thus, efter the spamen werd,He prentit baith his futsteppis in the erd,Behaldand redly quhat syngnys thai schaw,Or quhidder thai mark, etand, pasyng on raw.Thai at the last gan flychtir furth a space,Half stalkand on the grond a soft pace,Sa fer befor Achates and EneAs thai mycht weil behald thame with thar E.And alssone as thai come to the entreOf Avernus, that stynkand hellys see,Vprays thai swyftly, and in the moste ayrFlaw furth, and syne gan alycht and repairApon thar segys, quhar thame list tobe,Of divers naturis perkit on the tre,Throw quhais branchis, of seir hewis mony ane,The brycht glittyrrand goldin cullour schane.Lyke as ful oft, in chil wyntiris tyde,The gum or glew, amyd the woddis wide,Is wont to seym ȝallow on the grane new,Quhilk nevir of that treis substance grew,With saffron hewit frute doyng furth sprowt,Circulis and wymplis rownd bewis abowt:Siklyke was of this gold the figur brycht,That burgionyt fayr on the rank akis hycht.Evir as the branch for pypand wynd reboundit,The goldin schakeris ratlis and resoundit.Eneas smertly hynt the grayn at schone,And, but delay, hes rent it dovn anone;Desyrus to compleit hys way alssua,Bair it onto the hald of Sibilla.And netheles Troianys, this ilk tyde,Mysenus deth bewalit at the cost syde,Onto the dolorus onsilly bodyFuneral seruyce completand by and by.At the begynnyng first vp hie thai beildA huge heip or byng amyd the feild,Of dry ayk schydis and fat roset treys:Al sydis tharof, als fer as ony seys,Was dek and coverit with thir dedly bewis,And wild cipres, the tre of mortall hewys;The top abufe arrayit was at richt,And adornyt with schynand armour bricht.Sum spedis to graith hait watir bisselyIn caldronys playand on the fyre fast by:The cald ded corps is weschin and invnct,Embalmyt with rich gummys euery junct.Thai schowting, gowling, and clamour, abowt him maid;The body syne bewalit haue thai laidIn a soft bed, and thar abuf was spredPurpour robbis, quharwith he wont was cled:Sum on thar schulderis the gret beir vpbair,A dulful office, with mony sob and rayr,And, as the maner of tendir frendis is,For sorow thar facis writhis away, I wys,Puttand the kyndling in with hait fyre brand.Gret hepis of cens vpblesit fra hand to hand;Cowpis and goblettis warpit in the fyre,Ful of oyl dolyve, brynt vp brycht and schyre.Eftir all was fallin in puldir and in as,And the gret heit of flambis quynchit was,The reliqueis and the dry ammeris syneThai sloknyt, and gan weschin with sweit wyne:The banys, walit by and naitly chosit,Choryneus in a brassyn twn hes closit;And this ilk man his feris al, but dowt,With cleyn watir clengit thrys abowt,Strinkland a litil dewing, as was the gys,With the branch of a happy olyve thrys;He purgit and aspergit weil the men,The lattir word, al is done! said he then.Eneas tho gart vp erekkit beA sepultur, of ful huge quantite,In takynnyng of the mannys instrumentis,Ane ayr and eik a trumpet tharon prentis,Vndir the mont, vmquhile AeryusWas clepit, quhilk now is hait Mysenus;Eftir his name callit perpetualy,That evir sal his memor testify.