The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse

CAP. XIII

Quhou Camylla hir fays doun can dyng,And venquyst Awnus, for all his fair flechyng.The awfull maid Camylla the ilk tyde,With cace of arrowis tachit by hyr syde,Amyd the slauchter and melle apon hyr foynProwdly pransys lyke a wench Amaȝon,That, forto hant the bargane or assay,Hyr rycht pap had cut and brynt away:And now the sowpill schaftis baldly scheOn athir sydis thik sparpellis and leit fle;Now, not irkyt in batale stith to stand,Ane stalwart ax scho hyntis in hir hand:Apon hir schulder the giltyn bow Turcas,With Dyanys arowys clatterand in hyr cays.And gif that so betyd into that fightHyr ferys gave the bak and tuke the flycht,Into the chais oft wald scho turn agane,And, fleand, with hir bow schuyt mony a flane.Abowt hir went hir walit salwart feris,The maid Laryna, and Tulla ȝong of ȝheris,And Tarpeia, that stowtly turnys and swaxWith the weil stelit and braid billit ax;Italyanys born; quham the nobil CamyllaHad to hir lovyng and honour deput swa,Tobeyn hir servandis in ganand tyme of paix,And in batale to stand by hir in pres.Lyke as of Trace the wenchys AmaȝonysDyndillis the flude Thermodoon for the nonys,As in thar payntit armour do thai fyght,Owder abowt Hippolita the wight,Or by the weirlyke maid Penthesile,Rolland hir cart of weir to the melle;The wemen rowtis baldly to the assay,With felloun bruyt, gret revery, and deray,Furth haldis sammyn our the feldis sone,With crukyt scheldis schapyn like the moyn.O thou stern maid Camylla, quhat sall I say?Quham first, quham last, thou smait to erth that day?Or quhou feil corpsis in the batale stedThou laid to grond, ourthrew, and put to ded?With the formast, Ewmenyus, that was oneSon to Clysius; quhais braid breist boneWith a lang stalwart speir of the fyr treThrow smyttyn tyte and persyt sone hes sche:He cavis owr, furthbokand stremys of blude,And with his teith eik, schortly to conclude,The bludy erd he bait; and, as he sweltis,Apon hys wond oft writhis, tumlys, and weltis.Abuf this nixt scho ekis other two,Lyris, and ane Pegasyus alsso;Of quham the tane, that is to say, Lyris,As that he fordward stowpand was, I wys,To hynt hys horssis reyn that gan to fundir,And the tother present, to kep hym vndir,Furth straucht his febill arm to stynt his fall,To grund togidder ruschit ane and all.And to thir syne the son of Hyppotes,Amastrus hait, ded scho adionyt in pres;And lenand fordwart on hir lance of tre,Terreas and Harpalicus chasys sche,Persewand eik full bustuusly ononThe bald Chromys, and strang Demophoon:Quhou feill dartis with hir hand kest this maid,Alsmony Troianys ded to grund scho laid.Ane Ornytus, ane huntar, far on raw,In armour and in cognycens onknaw,Raid on a curser of Apulȝe throu the feild:Hys braid schuldris weill cled war and ourheldWith a ȝong bullis hyde newly of hynt;Hys hed coverit, to salf hym fro the dynt,Was with ane hydduus wolfis gapand jowis,With chaftis braid, quhyte teith, and bustuus powis.To mak debait, he held intill his handA rural club or culmas insted of brand;And, quhar he went, amyd the rowtis on hieAbuf thame all his hail hed men myght se.Camylla hym at myscheif hes on set,Scho bair hym throw, and to the grund dovn bet;Nor na gret curage, forsuyth, was that, na mycht,For all his rowt tofore had tane the flycht.Bot forthir eik this forsaid Camylla,With mynd onfrendly, can thir wordis sa:Thou Tyrrheyn fallow, quhat, wenyt thou tobeIn woddis chasand the wild deir? quod sche:The day is cummyn that ȝour prowd wordis haitA womanis wapyn sal resist and debait.And, not the les, na litill renowneFrom thens thou sal do turs away with the,And to our faderis gostis blythly schawThat with Camyllais glave thou art ourthraw.Incontinent this madyn eftir thysSlew Orsilochus, and ane that hait Butys,Twa biggast men of body and of banysOf all the ost and fallowschip Troianys.Bot this ilk Butys, standand hir befor,Out throu the nek dyd scho pers and bor,Betwix the hawbrig and the helm in hy,Quhar that his hals scho dyd nakyt aspy;For our his left schulder hang his scheld.Bot this Orsilochus fled hir in the feild,And gan to trump with mony a turnyng went;In circulis wyde scho drave hym our the bent,With mony a curs and jowk, abowt, abowt;Quhar euer he fled scho followis in and owt:And at the last scho has ourtak the man,And throw hys armour all, and his harn pan,Hyr braid poll ax, rasyt so on hie,With all hir fors and mycht syne strykis sche;As he besocht for grace with gret request,Scho dowblit on hir dyntis, and so hym prest,With feil wondis his hed has tort and rent;Hys harnys hait our all his vissage went.Than Awnus son, quhilk also Awnus hait,On cace betyd approche in the debaitTowart this maid, and, alssone he hir saw,Abasyt huvis still for dreid and aw:Into the mont Appennynus dwelt he,Amang Liguriane pepill of his cuntre;And not, forsuyth, the lakest weriour,Bot forsy man, and rycht stalwart in stour,So lang as fatis sufferit hym in fychtTo excers prettykis, juperty, or slycht.This Awnus, fra that weil persavit heNa way to fle nor eschew the melle,Nor mycht eschaip the queyn, stude him agane;Than he begouth assay hir with a trayn,And with a sle dissait thus first he said:Quhat honour is till a stowt wench or maidFortill assur and trast in a strang hors?Leif thy swyft steid, and traste in thyne awyn fors;At nane avantage, quhen thou lyst to fle,Lyght on this plane, and hand for hand with meAddres ws to debait on fut allone:Thar sall thou se, thar sall thou knaw onone,Quhamto this wyndy glore, voust, or avantis,The honor, or, with payn, the lovyng grantis.Thus said he: bot scho than als hait as fyre,Aggrevit for, inflambit in felloun ire,Alycht, and to hir mait the hors betaucht;At his desyre onon on fut vpstraucht,With equal armour bodyn wondir lycht,The drawyn suerd in hand that schane full brycht,And onabasyt abaid hym in the feild,Abylȝeit only bot with a quhite scheild.The ȝong man, wenyng with his sle dissaitHe had begilit hir be his consait,Abowt his bridill turnyt but mair delay,And at the flycht sprent furth and brak away,And feil sys leit the hors sydis feillThe scharp irne spurris prik apon his heill.O, quod the maid, thou fals Liguriane,Our wanton in thy prowd mynd, all invayn;O variant man, for nocht perfay, quod sche,Hes thou assayt thy cuntre craftis sle:Dissaitfull wight, forsuyth I to the say,Thy slycht and wylis sall the nocht beir away,Nor hayl scarth hyne do turs the hame fra wsOnto thy faderis hows, the fals Awnus.Thus said the wench onto this other syre,And furth scho sprent as spark of gleid or fyre;With spedy fut so swyftly rynnys sche,By passyt the horssis renk, and furth can fleBefor hym in the feild with gret disdeyn,And claucht onon the curser by the reyn;Syne set apon hym baldly, quhar scho stude,And hir revengit of hir fays blude:Als lychtly as the happy goishalk, we se,From the hycht of a rokis pynnakill hieWith swyft weyngis persewis wonder sairThe silly dow heich vp into the ayr,Quham finaly he clippis at the last,And lowkyt in his punsys sarris fast,Thristand his tallons sa throu hir entralisQuhill at the blude abundantly furth ralys;And, with hir beik deplumand, on al sydisThe lycht downys vp to the skyis glidis.

CAP. XIV

Tarchon, gret chiftane of the Tuscan ost,The fleand folkis to turn agane can bost.The fader of Goddis and men with diligent eynHas all hir dedis vnderstand and seyn,And, situat in his hevynly hous on hie,Inducis and commovis to the melleTarchon, of Tuscanys pryncipall lord and syre,In breithfull stoundis rasyt brym as fyre;So that amyd the ful myschewos fyght,The gret slauchter and rowtis takand the flycht,On horsbak in this Tarchon baldly draw,Wilfull his pepill to support and saw:The wardis all of euery natiounWith admonitiouns seir and exhortatiounAnd diuers wordis tystis to feght, for schame,Clepand and calland ilk man be his name,Quhill thai that drevyn war abak and chasteRelevys agane to the bargane in haist.O Tuscane pepill, quhou happynnys this, said he,That ȝhe sal evir sa doillyt and bowbartis beOnwrokyn sik inurys to suffir heir?O, quhat be this? quhou gret a dreid and feir,Quhou huge dolfnes, and schaymful cowardice,Hes ombeset ȝour myndis, apon sik wysThat a woman allon, and thus belyve,Apon sik wys sal scattir ȝou and dryve,And gar sa large rowtis tak the flycht?Quharto bair we thir steill egis in fyght?Or quhat avalys to hald in hand, lat se,For nocht thir wapynnys, gyf we a wife sall fle?Ȝe war not wont tobe sa lyddyr ilkaneAt nycht batellys and workis venerian,Or quhar the bowand trumpet blew the spryng,At Bachus dans to go in caralyng,Syne go to fest at tabill, and syt at des,Se cowpys full, and mony danty mes:Thar was ȝour lust, plesour, and appetite,Thar was ȝour bissy cuyr and ȝour delyte;Quhen that the happy spayman, on hys gys,Pronuncit the festual haly sacryfys,And the fat offerandis dyd ȝou call on rawTo banket amyd the dern blissyt schaw.And, with that word, amydwart the melle,Reddy to sterf, his hors furth sterys he,And awfully onon with all his maynRuschit apon Venulus, stud hym agane;And with hys rycht arm can hys fa enbras,Syk wys he dyd hym from hys hors arrais,And with huge strenth syne dyd hym cowch and layBefor his breist, and bair hym quyte away.The Tuscanys rasyt a clamour to the sky,And Latynys all thar eyn abowt dyd wry.This Tarchon, ardent as the fyry levyn,Flaw furth swyft as a fowle vp towart hevyn,Berand with hym the armour and the man;And fra his speris poynt of brak he thanThe stelit hed, and syne seyrsis all artis,Euerilk entre, and all the oppyn partis,Quhar he mycht fynd into sa litil stovndA place patent to geif hym dedis wond:And, be the contrar, Venulus full wightMaid all debait and obstakill at he mycht,And can hys hand from hys throt oft sys chopWith all hys strenth, hys violens to stop.Lyke as, sum tyme, the ȝallo egill be sychtThe eddir hyntis vp and careis on hyght,Syne, fleand, in hir feit strenȝeis sa fastThat oft hyr punsys out throw the skyn dois thrast:Bot the serpent, wondyt and al toschent,In lowpyt thrawys wrythis with mony a sprent,Hyr sprutlyt skalys vpset grysly to se,With quhisland mouth strekand hir hed on hie;All thocht scho wreill, and sprynkill, bend, or skyp,Evir the sarar this ern strenys hys gryp,And with hys bowand beik rentis grewsly,Sammyn with hys weyngis soursand in the sky:Noyn othyr wys, this Tarchon tursys hys prayThrow owt the Tyburtyn rowtis glaid and gay.The pepill Tuscane, quhilum cum fra Lyde,Seand the exempill and prosper chans that tydOf thar stowt duke, followys hys hardyment,And with a rusch sammyn in the bargane sprent.Quhen as ane Aruns, by hys mortal faitOnto myschewos ded predestinate,Circulis at the wait, and aspyis abowtThe swyft madyn Camyll, of all the rowtIn honest fait of armys maist expert,And best betaucht to schute or cast a dart:He sekis by quhat ways or fortounTo fynd the fassoun and tyme oportuneMaist esely this lady to assaill;And all the wentis and renkis, sans faill,This furyus maid held mydwart the melle,The sammyn gait and passage haldis he,And prevely hir futsteppys dyd espy;And quhar scho dyd return with victory,With fut bakwart frawart hir aduersar,This ilk Aruns was ful reddy thar,And thyftuusly onon the sam way heWithdrew hys pays, and held on hir hys E:Lurkand at wayt, and spyand rownd abowt,Now this tocome, now that onset, but dowt,At euery part thys pevech man of weyr,And schuke in hand hys oneschewabill speir.

CAP. XV

Aruns the preist slays Camylla be slycht,Syne cowartly onon takis the flycht.Per chans that tyde Choreus, of gret estait,Ane spiritual man blissyt and consecrat,That to Cybele sum tyme preist had be,A weill lang space ȝond in the melleAbilȝeit rychly and full gloryus schaneIn pompus armour and array Phrygiane:Furth dryvys he the fomy sterand steid,With weirlyke bardis cled, and sovir weidOf coyrbulȝe or leddir with gilt nalys,Cowchyt with plait of steill als thik as skalys;And he hym self, in brovne sangwane weill dycht,Abuf hys onkouth armour blomand brycht,Schaftis he schot, and takillys wrocht in Creyt,With Lycyane bow nokkyt with hornys meyt,And clattryng by hys schuldyr for the weirHys ganȝe cays and goldyn awblaster;The helm of gold schane on the prestis hed;Of safron hew, betwix ȝallow and red,Was hys rych mantill, of quham the forbreist lappys,Ratlyng of brycht gold wyre, with gyltyn trappysOr cordys fyne was buklyt with a knot;Of nedill wark all brusyt was hys cote;Hys hosyng schane of wark of barbaryIn porturatour of subtell brusery.Thys man only of all the mekyll rowtThe maid Camylla followis fast about;Quhyddir so it was that Troiane armour scheLyst hyng in tempill for memor of trophe,Or than desyryt this wantoun hunteresIn goldyn attyre hir selwyn to addres,Quhilk scho in feild byreft hyr aduersar;Throw owt the ost onwarly went alquhar,Blynd in desyre this Troiane to assay,In womanly appetyt ardent of this pray,This precyus spulȝe, and array sa prowd,Quharwith, as said is, was this preist yschrowd.This forsaid Aruns liggyng at the wait,Seand this maid onflocht at sik estait,Chosys hys tyme that was mast oportune,And towart hir hys dart adressyt sone.With voce expres hys prayer thus maid he:O brycht Apollo, souerane God mast hie,Of haly mont Soractis the wardane,Quham pryncipaly we wirschip euery ane,Quhamto the fyry smok of sens, we se,Blesys in the kyndillit byngis of fyr tre;As we that wirschippis the with obesans,Be support of thy devoyt observans,Oft with our futsteppys and our nakyt solysDown thryngis feil hait syndris and fyry colys;Grant me, fader almychty, now I pray,With our wapynnys this schame to do away.I ask na trophe, nor the pompos weydOf this maid dovn bet or repulsyt in deid,Nowder byd I therof spulȝe nor renovn;My other dedis syne mot mak me bovnTo report honour and lawd eftir this:Bot at this time I byd na mair, I wys,Salf that this wench, this vengeabill pest or trake,Be bet dovn ded by my wond and smart strake,And syne that I may to my kynd citeBut ony glor return alyve, quod he.Phebus hym hard, and grantit to fulfyllOf hys axin a party, at hys wyll;Bot for the tother part, suyth to say,He leit do waif with the swyft wynd away:Consentand that he suld doun bet and slaBy hasty ded the awfull Camylla;Bot, at hys cuntre hail scarth haymwart brochtSuld se hym eftir that, he grantit nocht;And in the clowdy blastis of the skyThat voce and wordis flaw away in hy.So that, als fast as from hys hand, that stond,Thirland the ayr this takill gaue a sound,The rowtis can aduert and takis tent,Turnand thar syghtis, ilk wight, with a blentTowart the queyn, thar lady, this Camyll:Bot scho nane heyd nor tent hes tane thartill,Nowder of the hasty motioun of the ayr,Nor ȝit the byrrand sovnd this flycht maid thar,Nor ȝit persauyt this awfull schaft of treDiscendand swyftly fra the hevyn on hie;Quhill that the lance hir smate and hurt, perfay,Quhar that hir pap was schorn and cut away,And weggyt deip within hir cost stude,Furth sowkis largely of this madynnys blude.Hyr complicis alsammyn in this neydStart to thar lady in affray and dreid;And sone thai claucht and lappyt in thar armysThis queyn, that funderand was for hir smart harmys.Bot fyrst of all, for feyr and fell affray,Thys Aruns fled full fast and brak away,With blythnes mydlyt havand paynfull dreid:For he na langar durst into this neydAssure forto debait hym with hys speir,Na ȝit abyd the virgynys wapyn, for feyr.And lyke as that the wild wolf in hys rageKnawand hys recent falt and gret owtrage,Quhen that he hes sum gret ȝong oxin slane,Or than weryit the nolt hyrd on the plane,Tofor hys fays with wapynnys hym persew,Onon is he to the heich mont adew,And hyd hym self full far owt of the way;Hys taill, that on hys ryg befor tymys lay,Vnder hys waym lattis fall abasytly,And to the wod can hast hym intill hy:Nane other wys Aruns, that fleyt wight,Fled, and belyve withdrew hym owt of sycht;Content only to gyf the bak and fle,Amang the thikast pres hym hyd hes he.And this Camylla, stervand the ilk stound,The schaft hes pullyt of hyr dedly woundWith hir awyn hand; bot ȝit amang the banysThe scharp steill hed fixt to the rybbys remanys,In a full deip wond and a grewos sayr.All paill and bludles swarthis scho rycht thar,And in the deth closys hir cald eyn;The rudy cullour, vmquhile as purpour scheyn,Blaknyt, and fadys quyte out of hir face:And, ȝaldand vp the gost in the ilk place,Onto ane of hir damysellis and ferys,Clepyt Acca, that had beyn mony ȝherisOnly maste trast, and hald in speciallTo Camylla abuf the otheris all,That knew alhaill the secretis of hir hart,With quham hir thochtful curys wald scho part,That tyme scho spak, and said on this maner:Acca, Acca, my leif systyr deyr,Onto this hour I haue done at I myght;Bot now this dolorus wond so hes me dychtThat all thyng dymmys and myrknys me abowt.Go fast thy way, and hy the of this rowt;Schaw Turnus thir my last commandis, quod sche;Byd hym entyr in fecht insted of me,And fra the cite thir Troianys dryve away:Adew for evir! I haue na mar to say.Sammyn with that word the renȝeis slyp leyt sche,And slayd to grond, nocht of fre volunte.Than the cald deith and last stondis mortallThe spreit dissoluyt from the corps our all;Hyr sowpil crag inclynand and nek bayn,Bowyt dovn hyr hed that was with deth ourtane;Furth sprent hyr armys in the ded thrawyng,And fra hir kest hir wapynnys and armyng:The spreit of lyfe fled murnand with a grone,And with disdene dovn to the gostis is goyn.

CAP. XVI

Opis the nymphe with dartis of Dyane,Camylla to revenge, has Aruns slane.Ane huge clamour than dyd rys on hycht,That semyt smyte the goldyn starnys brycht;The bargane walxis mair cruell and hetQuhar that the stowt Camylla was down bet:For all the rowtis of the bald Troianys,The Tyrrheyn dukis semlyt all at anys,And eik Evandrus wardys of Arcadys,Sammyn in the pres thar aduersaris invadis.Bot Opis tho, the nymphe, that weill neir byBe thrynfald Dyane send was to espy,Sat a lang space apon ane hillys hight,And onabasyt dyd behald the fyght.Syne thareftir on far scho can espy,Amyd quhar as thir ȝonkeris rasyt this scry,With schaymfull deth ourtane, Camyll the maid:Scho wepyt soir, and plenand thus scho said,Sobband full deip law from hir breist within:Allace! virgyne, to mekill, and that is syn,To mekill all owt, sa cruell punysyngHas thou sufferit, certis, for sik a thyng,Becaus thou hest inforsyt in all thy mychtFortill ennoy the Troianys in this fight.Quhat proffitis the in buskis thyne allaneTo haue servyt so lang the blissyt Diane?Or by thy syde, or than on schuldir hie,So lang our quavyrris to haue born? quod sche.And, netheles, but honour in this stedThy queyn hes not the left in poynt of ded;Nor this thy slauchter but ramemberyngAmang all pepill sall not be, nor menyng;Ne salt thou not that schame suffir, trast me,Forto be tald thou suld onwrokyn be:Quha evir with wond hes schent or violaitThy fair body, to Dyane dedicate,He sal repent the tyme that evir thou stervit,And with his deth aby, as he hes servyt.Vnder the montane law thar stude fute hoitA byng of erth, vphepit like a moyt,Contenyng the cald assis and brynt banysOf ald Dercennus, kyng of Lawrentanys,Ourheld with akyn treis and bewys rank:Thyddir this Goddes, hastand dovn the bank,Hyrself hes careyt, and thar huvys styll,And from this knowys hycht, or lityll hyll,Abydis this ilk Aruns till espy.And fra scho hym persavys glydand by,In rich armour schynand wonder brycht,And all invayn, prowd, wantoun, gay, and lycht;Quhy haldis thou awaywart so? quod sche:Dres hyddirmar thy futsteppis towart me;Now cummys hyddir to perys and to sterve,And caucht dewly, as that thou hes deserve,Thy reward for Camyllys ded, perde.On Dyanys dartis, ha, suld syk ane de?And with that word, lyke a stowt wench of Trace,The swyft gilt arow schuke owt of hir cace,And, rycht amovit, hir hornyt bow has bent,Quharin onon the takill vp is stent;Syne halys vp in ire and felloun haist,Quhill that the bow and nokkis met almaist:And now hir handis raxit hyt euery sted,Hard on the left neyf was the scharp steill hed,The stryng, vp pullit with the rycht hand in feir,Went by hir pap almaste ontil hir eyr.Aruns onon the motioun of the ayrSammyn with the quhislyng of the takill squarPersavit hes, and eik the dynt atanys;The dedly hed throu gyrd his body and banys.Hys ferys all hes hym forȝet allane,Quhar as he swelt with mony a wofull grane,And in ane onkouth feld hes left hym ded,Bedoif in dust and puldyr, will of red:Syne Opys with hir weyngis swyft can fleAbufe the skyis heich in the hevynnys hie.

CAP. XVII

Acca to Turnus schawys Camyllais chance,Hir army fled, and left all ordinans.The swyft army and active rowt wyth thisOf Camilla fled first the feld, I wys,For thai had lost thar lady and capitane:The pissans haill and ostis TyburtaneAffrayt all togyddir gave the flycht;The bak hes tane Atynas bald and wight;The chiftanys brak array, and went thar gait,The banneris left all blowt and desolait,Socht to warrand on horsbak, he and he,Frawart thar fays, and held to the cite.Nor nane of thame, sa mayt and sa agast,The fers Troianys, quhilk thame assalȝeit fast,Onto the ded and myscheif dyd invaid,With wapynnys anys to styntyng maid a braid,Nor thame sustene ne ȝit resist thai mycht,Bot all atanys sammyn tuke the flycht,And on thar wery schuldris with gret schameThar byg bowys onbent has tursyt hame;And the stowt stedis with thar huvys sovndWith swyft renkis dyndlyt the dusty grond.The blak stowr of puldir in a stewAls dyrk as myst towart the wallys threw;On the barmkyn abufe, and turettis hie,The wemen bet thar breistis, was reuth to se,Rasand atanys a wofull wyfly cryWent to the starnys and thyrlyt throw the sky.And quha mycht formest, with swyft curs hes thame setTo brek in at the oppyn patent ȝet;The rowtis of thar ennemys myxt ouraneApon thame ruschis, and owrthrawys mony ane:Nor thar eschape thai nocht the wrachit deth,Bot in the portis ȝaldis vp the breth,Stekit amyd thar native wallys hie,And amang howsis quhar sovir semyt thame tobe.A part closyt the entre and the portis;Ne to thar ferys, nor ȝit nane other fortis,The ȝettis listyng oppyn, nor mak way,Nor, thocht thai oft besekyng thame and pray,Durst thame ressaue within thar wallys squar:A duylfull slauchter onon vprisys tharOf thame in armys stude the portis to defend,And thame with glavys war kyllyt and maid end.The sonnys furthschet, that pety was to seyn,Befor thar wepand wofull faderis eyn,Sum in the holl fowcy war tumlyt dovn,Sa thik thame cummyrris the pres throng to the tovn;Sum hasty and onwarly at the flychtSclakis thar brydillys, spurrand in all thar mycht,Can with a ram rays to the portis dusche,Lyke with thar hedis the hard barris to frusch.The moderis eik and wemen albedene,Fra tyme Camylla kyllyt haue thai sene.Knawand thar was extreme necessite,With all debait stude on the wallys hee;Sik thyng to do that tyme and tak on handThe perfyte luf thame taucht of thar kynd land;And all agast dartis and stanys doun threw:The syllys square and hedyt styngis enew,And perkis gret with byrslyt endis and brunt,Full hastely doun swakkis, dunt for dunt,And, for defens of thar kynd wallys hie,Offerit thame self with the formest to de.In the meyn quhile, as Turnus at the waitLay in the wod, fast by the passage strait,All the maist cruell tithingis fillys hys erys:For Acca schawys to hym and all hys ferysThe huge affray, quhou the batale was gane,The Volscane ostis distroyt, and Camyll slane,Thar noysum fays encressyng furyus rage,And by thar prosper Martis vassallageDiscumfyst all hys ostis, euery rowt,That now the cite wallys stud in dowt.He walxis brayn in furor bellicall,So desyrus of dedis martiall,For the hard fatys and strang mychtis heOf the gret Jove wald that it so suld be:The hyllys heich he left quhar at he lay,And from the dern woddis went away.And scarsly was he passyt owt of syght,In the plane feild cummyn all at rycht,Quhen that the prynce Ene with all his menHes entryt in and passyt throu the glen,And our the swyre schawys vp at hys handEschape the dern wod, and won the evyn land;So that baith twa with thar haill rowtis at lastIn all thar speid held to the cite fast.And na lang space thar ostis war in sondir,Bot that Ene the feildis reik lyke tundirOf dusty stowr persauyt a far way,And saw the Latyne rowtis ryde away;And fers Eneas, wyrkar of hys harmys,Turnus persauyt also ryde in armys,The dynnyng of thar hors feit eik hard he,Thar stampyng sterage, and thar stedis ne.Incontinent thai had to batale went,And in the bargane previt thar hardyment,Ne war, as than, the rosy Phebus redHys wery stedis had dowkyt our the hedVnder the stremys of the occeane see,Reducyng the dyrk nycht, thai mycht not se;Alhail declynyt had the days lycht.To tentis than befor the tovn ilk wightBownyng to rest, al thai that war withowt,And delvys trynschis all the wallys abowt.

THE PROLOUG OF THE TWELT BUKE