The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse

CAP. XI

The quenys deces fra Turnus cleirly wist,Went to the sege Eneas to resist.In the meyn tyme, as weriour vnder scheild,Turnus ȝond at the far part of the feldA few menȝe persewand our the plane,Quhilk at the stragill fled in all thar mayn,Sum deill or than walxis dolf this syre,Seand his horssis begyn to sowpe and tyre;That euer the les and les joyus was heOf thar renkis and gait throu the melle.Tharwith the wynd and sowchquhyng of the airThis feirfull clamour brocht to hym rycht thar,Mixt with oncertane terrour and affeir;The confusioun of sovnd smait in hys eyr,Com from the cyte, of felloun murmuryng,Rycht onglaid bruyt of cayr and womentyng.Ha, ways me! he said, quhat may this be?Quhou beyn the wallys trublit of this citeWith so gret duyll and sorrow as I heir?Or quhou thus ruschis so felloun noys and beirAnd clamour from the tovn at euery part?Thus has he said, and can do stynt his cart,And all enragit tyt the renȝeis abak.Quhamto his sistir tho Juturna spak,As scho that was turnyt, as I said air,In semlant of Metiscus the cartar,That horssis, renȝeis, syd rapis, and cart, dyd scheRewle and direct amydwart the melle;With sic wordis scho ansueris hym fute hait:Turnus, lat ws persew Troianys this gait,Quhar victory ws schawis the reddy way;Thar beyn enew otheris, be my fay,Forto defend and weill manteym the tovn.Ȝon is Eneas makis the brute and sovn,That can invaid Italianys, as ȝe heir,Mydlit in batale on sik feir of weir.Tharfor lat ws with cruell hand in this stedLay als feill corpsis of the Troianys ded;For with na les numbir slane vnder scheild,Nor les honour, sall thou wend of the feild.Turnus answeris; O thou my sistyr deir,I knew full weill at it was thou, langere,That be thi craft and quent wylis sa sleOur consideratioun trublit and trete,And entrit in this batell quhilk thou wrocht:And now, Goddes, thy wylis ar all for nocht.Bot quha was that send the from hevyn so scheyn,So huge sturt and travell to susteyn?Quhidder gif thou com to that entent to seThe cruell deth of thy fey brother? said he:Quhat sall I do, lat se; quhar sall I now?Or quhat succurs promittis fortoun, and quhou?I saw myself befor myne eyn langereGret Murranus, quham nane mair leif and deirOnto me was that levand is this day,Swelt on the grund, and with lowd voce, perfay,On me dyd call, quhar as he lay onsoundAt erth discomfyt with ane grisly wond:And lo, doun bet and slane in hys defensIs not alsso the stowt capitane Vfens,That he suld not our lak and schame behald?Hys corps and armour doys Troianys baith withhald.Sail I als suffir thame doun the cyte dyng?Of our myscheif thar restis bot that a thing:Nor sall I not with this rycht hand in hyConfund schir Drances langage onworthy?Sail evir this grund behald or se sik lak,That I sall fle, or Turnus gif the bak?Is it all owt sa wrachit thing to de,That, or thai stervyn, men suld rathar fle?Ȝhe Manes, clepit Goddis infernal,Beis to me frendly now, sen that allThe Goddis myndis abuf ar me contrar;Be ȝhe benevolent quhen that I cum thar:Ane haly saule to ȝou discend sall I,Saikles of all sic cryme or villany,Na wys onworthy namyt forto beWith my eldris and forfaderis mast hie.Scars hes he said, quhen, lo, throu the planeRuschand amyd hys fays, com hym aganeAne Sages, montit on a fomy steid;And he was wondit sair, and gan to bleid,In the face with ane arrow vndir the E,Cryand, help, Turnus, be his name, quhar is he?Turnus, quod he, in the and thy twa handisThe extreme help and lattir weilfar standis:Haue reuth and piete of thyne awin menȝe.Now, as the thundris blast, faris EneIn bargane, so enragit he doith mannaysThe cheif cyte of Italy doun to arrays,And into fynal ruyne to bet dounThe principall palyce and all the ryall tovn;And now onto the thak and ruffis hieThe flambys and the fyre blesys doys fle.In the thar wltys, in the thar eyn, but faill,The Latyn pepill dressyt hes alhaill:The kyng hym self Latinus, the gret heir,Quhispyris and musys, and is in maner seirQuham he sall cheis or call, into this thraw,Tobe hys douchteris spous, and son in law,Or to quhat frendschip or allyans fyneIs best hym selwyn at this tyme inclyne.And forthirmore, Amata the fair queyn,Quhilk at all tymys thyne afald frend has bene.With hir awyn hand doith sterve, now liggand law,And for affray hir self hes brocht of daw.Only Mesapus and Atynas keynAt the portis doys the stour susteyn:Abowt thir twa on athir syde thik standisArrayt rowtis, with drawyn swerdis in handis,Full horribill and austern athir barnage,Cled in steill weid with wapynnys, man and page;And thou, thus rollyng furth thy cart bedene,Walkis at avantage on the void grene.Turnus astonyst stude dum in studeyng,Smyt with the ymage of mony diuers thyng:Deip in hys hart boldynnys the felloun schame,All mixt with dolour, angyr, and defame;Syne fervent luf hym catchit in fury rage,And hys bykend hardyment and curage.As first the schaddois of pertrublansWas dryve away, and hys rememberansThe lycht of ressoun has recoverit agane,The byrnand sycht of baith his eyn twane,Sore aggrevit, towart the wallys he kest,And from hys cart blent to the cyte prest.Bot lo, a sworll of fyre blesys vpthraw!Lemand towart the lyft the flambe he saw,Amang the plankis and the loftis schireStremand and kyndland fast the hoyt fyre,That caucht was in a mekill towr of tre;Quhilk towr of sillys and gestis gret belt he,And thar vnder, to roll it, quhelis set,With staris hie and batelling weirly bet.Now, now, systir, quod he, lo all and sumThe fatis has vs venquyst and ourcum:Desist tharfor to mak me langar tary;Lat ws follow that way, and thiddir cary,Quhar God and this hard fortoun callys me.Now standis the poynt, I am determyt, quod he,Eneas hand for hand fortill assaill;Now standis the poynt, to suffir in bataillThe bittir ded and all paynfull distres:No langar, sistir germane, as I ges,Sall thou me se schamefull onworthy wight.Bot, I beseik the, manly as a knychtInto this fervent furour suffir meTo go enragit to batale, or I de.Thus has he said, and from the cart in hyApon the land he lap deliuerly,And left his sistir trist and dissolate;Thrist throu hys fays and wapynnys all, fute hait,And with sa swift fard schot throu the melleThat the myd rowtis and wardis schuddris he.And like as the gret roch crag with a sovnFrom the top of sum montane tumlyt doun,Quhen at it is our smyt with wyndis blast,Or with the drumly schowris spait doun cast,Or than be lang proces of mony ȝherisLowsyng tharfra the erd, and away weris,Is maid to fall and tumbill with all his swecht,Lyke till a wikkit hill of huge weght,Halding his fard the discens of the braWith mony skyp and stend baith to and fra,Quhill that he schut far on the plane grund,And all that he ourrekis doith confund;Woddis, heyrdis, flokkis, catale, and men,Our welterand with hym in the deip glen:Towart the wallys Turnus ruschit als fastThrow owt the rowtis, by hys fard doun cast,Quhar tho the grund wet and bedyit studeA weill far way with effusioun of blude,And large on breid the skyis and the ayrFor schaftis schot dyd quhissilling heir and thar:A bekyn with hys hand to thame maid he,And sammyn eik with lowd voce cryis; lat be!Stynt, ȝhe Rutilianys, se ȝhe feght na mair,And, ȝhe Latynys, ȝour dartys castyng spar;Quhou evir the fortoun standis at this tyde,The chance is myne, the fait I mon abyde.It is mair just and equale I allaneFor ȝou sustene the payn was ondertane,And purge the cryme, so happynnyt now of lait,Of this consideratioun violate:Lat me stand to my chans, I tak on handForto derene the mater with this brand.Than euery man amydward thame betweneCan draw abak, and maid rovm on the greyn.

CAP. XII

Eneas feghtis and Turnus, hand for hand,And Turnus fled, for he had brokkyn his brand.Thys fader than, this gret prynce Ene,Herand the name of Turnus cryit on hie,The wallys left, and fra the tovn went awayRicht hastely, secludand all delay;Styntis all the wark that he begunnyn had,And hoppit vp for joy, he was so glaid:The huslyng in his armour dyd rebund,And kest a terribill or a feirfull sound.Vpraxit hym he hes amyd the place,Als byg as Athon, the hie mont in Trace,Or heich as mont Erix in Scycily,Or than the fader of hillys in Italy,Clepyt mont Apennynus, quhen that heDoith swouch or bray with roky quhynnys hie.And joys to streik hys snawy top on hychtVp in the ayr amang the skyis brycht:That is to say, amang all other wightisEneas semyt to surmontyn in hyghtisThe remanent of all the mekill rowt,As thir montanys excedis the knollys abowt.And than, forsuyth, Rutilianys egyrly,And all the Troian ostis or army,Towart thar dukis dyd return thar eyn;The Rutilianys, I say, and eik bedeynAll the Latynys that on the wallys stud,And all thai als, tofor as thai war woidThe barmkyn law smait with the rammys fast,Now of thar schuldris can thar armour cast.The kyng hym self, Latyn, abasyt to seTwa men sa byg of huge quantite,Generit and bred in realmys far insundirOf seir partis of the warld, that it was wondirTwa of sik statur, onmysurly of hycht,Fortill assembill sammyn into fyght,Or forto se thame, matchit on the greyn,Dereyn the bargane with thar wapynnys keyn.And than athir thir campionys vndir scheild,Quhen voydit weill and rowmyt was the feildThat patent was the plane a weil large space,With hasty fard on far hes tane thar rays,And can thar speris cast, or thai cum neir,Quhil scheildis soundit and all thar other geir;Ane marcial batale thai begyn, but baid,And athir sternly dyd hys fa invaid.So dyd the strakis dyn on thar steill weid,The erd granys and dyndlys far onbreid,Syne raschit togidder with swerdis, or euer thai stynt,And rowtis thik thai doublit, dynt for dynt;With fors of prowes and fatale aventurMydlit sammyn the bargane thai endur.Lyke as twa bustuus bullys by and by,On the hie month Taburn in Champany,Or in the mekill forest of Syla,Quhen thai assembill in austern bargane thra,With front to front, and horn for horn, attanysRuschand togiddir with cronys and feirfull granys,That fe masteris and hyrdmen, euery wight,Abasyt gevys thame place, so brym thai fight:For feir the bestis dum all standis by,And all in dowt squelys the ȝong ky,Quha salbe master of the catal all,Or quhilk of thame the bowys follow sall:Tha twa bullys, thus stryvand in that stond,By mekill fors wyrkis other mony a wond,And duschand festynnys fast thar hornys stowt,Quhill that abundans of blude stremys owt,That can do wesch, bedy, or all to baith,Thar grym nekkis and thar spaldis baith;That of thar rowstyng all the large planeAnd woddis rank rowtis and lowys agane.Nane other wys Ene, the Troian heir,And Dawnus son, Turnus, sammyn infeirHurlys togiddir with thar scheildis strang,That for gret raschis all the hevynnys rang.Thus Jupiter hym self hes atheris chanceA weill lang space to hungyn in ballanceBe equale myssour, and pasyt hes alssoThe fatis diuers of thame baith two;Quham the stowt laubour suld deliuer fre,And quham the pasand wecht ourwelt to de.Turnus at this tyme walxis bald and blyth,Wenyng to caucht a stound hys strenth to kythBut ony danger or aduersyte;He raxis hym, and hevis vp on hieHys bludy sword, and smait in al hys mayn.A gret clamour gave the pepill Troian,And eik the Latynys quakyng gaue a schowt,Full prest thame to behald stud athir rowt.Bot this ontraste fals blaid is brokyn in sundyr,And ardent Turnus brocht hes in gret blundir;For it amyddis of hys dynt hym falys,And dissolet hym left, that nocht avalysTo hym hys strenth, hardyment, and mycht,Les than he tak for hys defens the flycht:Ȝa, swyftar than the wynd he fled, I ges,Quhen that he saw hys rycht hand wapynles,And persauyt the plummet was onknaw.For so the fame is, at the ilk thrawQuhen he first ruschit in hys cart inhy,And gart do ȝok hys stedis by and byTo go onto the batale the sam day,That, for the suddand onset and effray,The cartar Metiscus sword he hynt in hand,And all forȝet hys faderis nobill brand:And this ilk swerd was sufficient a lang space,Quhill that he followit the Troianys in the chais,That gaue the bak, as we haue said or this;Bot alsfast as it twichit and matchit isWith dyvyn armour maid by God Wlcan,And tharon smyttyn in al Turnus mayn,This ontrew temperit blaid and fykkill brand,That forgit was bot with a mortal hand,In flendris flaw, and at the first clap,As brukkill ice, in litill pecis lap,Quhil the small partis of the blaid brokin in twaAs glas gletand apon the dun sand lay.Quharfor this Turnus, half myndles and brane,Socht diuers wentis to fle throu owt the plane;With mony wyndis and turnys, all on flocht,Now heir, syne thar, onsovirly he socht.Troianys stude thik bylappit inverounIn maner of a conpas or a crovn;And on the ta half eik a laik braidHym so inclusyt that he mycht nocht evaid,And on the tother syde fermyt als was heWith the hie wallys of the cheif cyte.And thocht the wond tarreis Ene sum deill,Wrocht to hym by the takill with hed of steill,To weild hys kne maid sum impediment,That he mycht nocht braid swyftly our the bent,With na les pres and haist ȝit, nocht for thy,He, fute for fut, persewys him fervently:Lyke as, sum tyme, quhen that the huntar stowtBetrappit has and ombeset aboutWith hys ralys and with hys hundis gudeThe mekill hart swymmand amyd the flude,Quhilk thar inclusit neidlingis mon abyd;For he may not eschape on nother syd,For feir of hundis, and that awfull bernBaryng schaftis fedderit with plumys of the ern;The rynnyng hund dois hym assail in threteBaith with swift rays and with hys questis grete:Bot this hart, all abasyt of thar slycht,And of the strait and stay bankis gret hycht,Can fle and eik return a thousand ways;Bot than the swypir Tuscan hund assaysAnd nerys fast, ay reddy hym to hynt,Now, now, almaste lyke, or euir he stynt,He suld hym hynt, and, as the beste war tak,With hys wyd chaftis at hym makis a snak,The byt oft falȝeis for ocht he do mycht,And chakkis waist togiddir hys wapynnys wycht.Richt so, at this tyme, apon athir sydeThe clamour rays, that all the laik wydeAnd brays abowt thame answerd, so thai ferd,The hevyn our all eik rumlyt of ther rerd.And Turnus, fleand, sammyn fast can callRutilianys, chidand baith ane and all,Every man clepand by hys proper name,To reke hym hys traist swerd for schame:And by the contrar, awfully EneCan thame mannans, that nane sa bald suldbe,And schew present the deth all reddy heirTo thar ondoyng, gif that ony drew neir,And quakyng for affeir maid thame agast;Schorand the cite to distroy and doun cast,Gif ony help or supple to hym schew,And, thocht he sair was, fersly dyd persew.Thus fyve tymys round intill a raysAbout the feild can thai fle and chais,And als feill sys went turnyng heir and thar,Lyke as befor the hund wiskis the hair.And na wondir; for sa the mater lyis,To na bowrdyng twichit thar interprys,Na for small wagis thai debait and stryfe,Bot apoun Turnus blude schedding and lyfe.On cace, amyd this feild had grow of laitAne wild olyve to Fawnus consecrait,Quharon grew bittyr levys, and mony ȝherisWas hald in wirschip with all maryneris;At the quhilk tre, quhen thai eschapit hadThe stormys blast, and wallis maid thame rad,Tharon thar offerandis wald affix and hyngOnto this God vmquhile of Lawrent kyng,And tharon eik the clathis bekend vpstent:Bot tho the stok of this tre doun was rentBy the Troianys, mysknawand it hallowit was,To that entent to plane the batale place.Eneas byg lance or hys castyng speirPercays apon the poynt was stykand heir;Thiddir this schaft the gret fors of his castHad thraw the ilk stund, and thar fixit fast,Amang the grippill rutis fast haldand,Weggit full law the lance on end dyd stand.The Troiane prynce it grippis in that sted,Willyng in hand to pull owt the steill hed,With cast tharof to follow hym at the bak,Quham he throw speid of fut mycht nocht ourtak.Bot than Turnus, half mangit in effray,Cryis, O thou Fawnus, help, help! I the pray;And thou Tellus, mast nobill God of erd,Hald fast the speris hed by ȝour werd;As I that evir has wirschipit on thir planysȜour honour, that be the contrar EneadanysHes violet and prophanyt be stryfe, quod he,With blude scheddyng, and down hewyn ȝour tre.Thus said he, and no thyng in vane, I wys,The Goddys help he axit; for, at hys wys,A full lang tyme wrelis and tareis EneFurth of the teuch rutis of this ilk treHys speir to draw, and bytis on his lip;Bot festynnyt sa is in the war the gryp.That by na maner fors, thocht he was wight,Furth of the stok the schaft vp pull he mycht.And as he brymly thus inforcis fastTo draw the speir, this Goddes at the last,I meyn Juturna, douchter of Dawnus king,Owt throw the feld com rynnand in a lyng,Changit agane, as that befor scho was,Into Metiscus semlant and lyknes,And to hir brother hes hys swerd betaucht:Quhar at Dame Venus gret disdenȝe caucht,Sik thyng suldbe tholit this bald nymphe to do;Than suddanly to the speir rakis scho,Baith schaft and hed onon, or evir scho stent,At the first pull from the deip rute hes rent.Than athir restit and refreschit weillBaith in curage and scharp wapynnys of steill,He trastand in hys swerd that weill wald scheir,And he full prowd and stern of hys byg sper;Incontrar otheris baldly lang thai standIn marciall batale athir resistand,Ilkane full wilfull otheris till ourthraw,At sic debait that baith thai pant and blaw.

CAP. XIII

Quhou Jupiter and Juno dyd contendEneas stryfe and Turnus fortill end.The fader almychty of the hevyn abuf,In the meyn tyme, onto Juno his lufe,Quhilk tho down from a watry ȝallow clowdBeheld the bargane, therof na thing prowd,Thus spak and said; O my deir spous, quhat now?Quhat end salbe of this mater, or quhou?Quhat restis finaly now atall? lat se.Thou wait thi self, and grantis thou wait, EneeIs destinat onto the hevin to cum,And for tobe clepit with all and sumAmang the Goddis a God Indigites,And by the fatis forto rest in pes,Sesit abuf the starry skyis hie.Quhat purposis or etlys thou now? lat se;Or into quhat beleif, or quhat entent,Hyngis thou swa in the cald firmament?Was it honest a godly dyvyne wightWith ony mortal strake to wond in fight?Or ȝit ganand, the swerd lost and adew,To rendir Turnus, lo, hys brand of new,And strenth encress to thame at venquist be?For quhat avalit Juturna, but thy supple?Desist heirof, now at last, be the lest,And condiscend to bow at our request;Ne suffir not thy hyd sorrow, I pray,Na langar the consume and waist away,That I na mar sik wofull thochtis seSchyne nor appeir in thy sweit face, quod he:For now is cum the extreme lattir punct.Thou mycht, quhil now, haue catchit at disiunctThe silly Troianys baith be sey and land;And eik thou mycht alsso at thyne awin handA fell ontellabill batal rays or weir,Deform the howshald, and bryng all on steirBe mony diuers ways of fury rage,And all with murnyng mixt thar mariage:Bot I forbyd ȝou ony mar sic thing.Thus spak and carpis Jove, gret hevynnys kyng.Saturnus dochtir, Juno the Goddes,Ansuerit on this wys, castand doun hir face:O Jupiter, deir lord, certis, said sche,Because this thy gret will was knawyn to me,On fors tharfor, and incontrar my mynd,I left the erd and my frend Turnus kynd.Ne, war not that, suld thou me se alloneThus sittand in the ayr al wobegone,Sustenand thus al maner of myscheif,And euery stres, baith lesum and onleif;Bot at I suld, gyrthit with flambis red,Stowtly haue standyn in ȝon batale sted,And suld haue drawyn ȝon Troianys, ane and all,Into fell mortal bargane inimicall.I grant, I dyd persuading owt of dreidJuturna to pas doun at sik neidTo hir brothir, and for his lyfe eik IApprovis weill, and als dois ratify,To vndertak mair than to hir pertenyt;Bot I forsuith persuadit neuer, nor menyt,That scho suld dartis cast, or takillis draw,Nor with the bow mak debait ony thraw:I swer tharto be the onplesand wellOf Stix, the flud and cheif fontane of hell,Quhais only dreidfull superstitioun heirThe Goddis kepis, that nane dar it forswere.And now, forsuith, thy will obey sall I,And giffis owr the caus perpetualy;And heir I leif sik werys and debait,The quhilk, certis, I now detest and hait.Bot for the land of Latium or Itaill,And for maieste of thine awin blude, sans faill,A thing I the beseik, quhilk, weill I wait, isNa wys include in statutis of the fatis:That is to knaw, quhen that, as weill mot be,With happy wedlok and feliciteȜon pepillis twane sall knyt vp peax for ay,Bynd confiderans baith coniunct in a lay,That thou ne wald the ald inhabitantisByd change thar Latyn name nor natyve landis,Ne charge thame nother tobe callyt Troianys,Nor ȝit be clepit Phrigianys nor Tewcranys;Ne ȝit the Latyn pepill thar leid to change,Nor turn thar clething in other habyt strange.Lat it remane Latium, as it was air;And lat the kyngis be namyt euermarPryncis and faderis of the stile Albane;The lynage eik and gret ofspring RomaneMot discend tharfra potent and mychty,Vndir the virtuus titill of Italy.Troy is doun bet; doun bet lat it remane,With name and all, and neuer vprys agane.Than gan to smyle Jupiter the gret kyng,That is producear of men and euery thing:Systir german, quod he, to Jove art thou,And secund child to Saturn ald; ha, quhouSa gret a storm or spait of felloun ireVndir thy breist thou rollis hait as fyre?Bot wirk as I the byd, and do awayThat wreth consauyt but ony caus, I pray.I geif and grantis the thi desyre, quod he;Of fre will, venquyst, referris me to the.Thir ilk pepill clepit Ausonyanys,On otherwys callit Italianys,The auld vsans and leyd of thar cuntreSall bruke and joys, and eik thar name salbeAs it is now, and as thar stile remanys:Alanerly thar personys the TroianysSall entyr myddill and remane thame amang:The fassonys and the ritis, that nocht ga wrang,Of sacrifice to thame statute I sall,And Latyn pepill of a tung mak thame all.The kynd of men discend from thir Troianys,Mydlit with kyn of the Italianys,Thou sall behald in piete and gentilnesTo go abufe baith men and Goddis expres;Nor neuer clan or other nation byLyke thame sall hallow, ne ȝit sanctifyThy wirschip, eik and honour, as thai sall do.Juno anerdit, and gaue consent heirto,Ful blith and joyus of this grant, perfay,Fra hir ald wraith hes writhit hir mynd away;And in the meyn tyme onto the hevyn hir drew,And left the clovd, and bad Turnus adew.Thys beand done, as said is, on sik wys,This hie fader can with hym self devysAne other craft; and providis the wayQuhou that he sall Juturna dryfe awayFrom helpyng of hir brother intill armys.Thar beyn twa vengeabill monstreis full of harmys,Clepit to surname Dire, wikkit as fyre,That is to say, the Goddis wraik or ire:Quhilk myschewos and cruell sisteris twa,Sammyn with the hellys fury Megera,Bair at a birth, for na thing profitabill,The Nycht thar moder, that barntyme miserabill;And all elike wymplit and cled thir trakisWith eddris thrawin, and harys full of snakis,And tharto ekit weyngis swift as wynd.Thir wikkit schrewys reddy sal ȝe fyndBefor the troyn of Jove, and eik alsoWithin the wanys of cruell kyng Pluto:Thai scharp the dreid to mortale wrachit wightis,Quhen euir the kyng of Goddis by his mychtisThe deth, or the contagius seiknes seir,Disponys hym to send in the erth heir,Or quhen that hym list do smyte and affrayCiteis with weirfar, as deservit haue thai.Jove ane of thir, full swipper to discend,Furth of the hevin abuf onon hes send,And bad hir hald doun baldly to the erd,Forto resist Juturnais ire and werd.And scho onon doun flaw, to ples the lard,And to the grund thuddis with hasty fard:Nane other wys than from the stryng doith fleThe swift arrow owt throw the ayr we se,Or, into bittyr vennom wet, sum flaneCastyn or schot by sum archer Persayn,By sum Persayn or man of CydonyThe schaft thrawyn, that quhirris throu the sky,And, quhar it hyttis, wirkis a wond of pyne,Oncurabill by the craft of medycyne,And sa swiftly slydis throu the clowdis grayThat quhar it went nane may persave the way.On sik maner the Nyghtis douchtir onflochtThrow the skyis doun to the erth sone socht:And eftir that scho saw the Troian ostis,And Turnus rowtis arrayt on the costis,Scho hir transformyt in lyknes of a fowle,Quhilk we a litil howlet cleip, or owle;That sum tyme into gravis, or stokkis of tre,Or on the waist thak, or hows rufis hie,Sittand by nycht syngis a sorowfull toynIn the dyrk skowgis, with scrykis inoportoyn:This vengeabill wraik, in sik form changit thus,Evyn in the face and vissage of TurnusCan fle and flaf, and maid hym forto grow,Scho soundis so with mony hys and how,And in hys scheild can with hyr weyngis smyte.A new dolfnes dissoluyt hys membris tyte;For verray dreid and for gret horrour alsVp stert hys hair, the voce stak in hys hals.Bot as Juturna soyn on far dyd heirOf this fury the quhislyng and the beir,The swouchyng of hir weyngis and hir flycht,This woful sister hyr hair rent for that sycht,With nalys ryvand reuthfully hir face,And smytand with hir nevis hir breist, allace!Turnus, my best belovit brother, quod sche,Quhat may thy sistir help now, wa is me!Or quhat now restis to me, wrachit wight?Thy life prolong quhou may I? Be quhat slychtMay I oppone me to resist or stryveWith sik a monstre? Na, nane wight alyve.Now, now, I leif the feild, and goys away.O ȝe myschewos fowlis, I ȝou pray,Do me na mair agrys trymland for feir;The clappyng of ȝour weyngis I knaw and heir,And eik the dedly sovndis weill on far:The provd command of myghty Jupiter,That gydis al thing by hys maieste,Dois me not now astart, for I it se.Is this the ganȝeld that he rendris meIn recompens of my virginite?Quharto eternal lyfe hes he me geif?Quharto suld I on this wys euer leif?Quharto is me byreft the faculteOf deth, and grantit immortalite?For, gif I mortal war, now, now suythly,Thir sa gret dolouris mycht I end in hy,And with my reuthfull brother go withallAmangis the dym schaddoys infernall.O deir brother german, without theIs na thing sweit nor plesand onto me.O now quhat grund, land, or erd tewchSal swelly me tharin half deip eneuch,And, thocht I beyn a Goddes, doun me draw,And send ontil infernal wightis law?Thus mekil said scho; and tharwith bad adew,Hir hed valit with a haw claith or blew,And, murnand gretly thar as that scho stud,This Goddes dowkit deip vnder the flud.