The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse

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.

CAP. XIV

At Eneas Turnus a stane dyd cast;Bot Eneas has slane hym at the last.Ene with this instantly list not cesForto recontyr Turnus in the pres,And hys big speir apoun hym schakis he,Quhilk semyt rude and squar as ony tre;And with a bald and bustuus breist thus spak:Quhat menys this langsum delay ȝhe mak?Quhy tary ȝe for schame, Turnus, all day?Quharto withdrawis thou the so away?We pyngill not for speid na curs to ryn,Bot we debait suld, this barres within,With wapynnys keyn and with our burnyst brandis,Togiddir met dereyn it with our handis.Do change thy self, or turn at thy awyn eysIn all maner of figuris as the pleis;Gaddir togiddir and assembill now, lat se,All that thou has of strenth or subtelte;Wys now to fle vp to the starnys on hychtWith fedderit weyngis forto tak thy flycht,Or forto cloys thy self this ilk thrawInto sum cavern vnder the erd law.Turnus, schakand hys hed, said, thou fers fo,Thy fervent wordis compt I not a stro,Thy sawis makis me not agast, perfay;It is the Goddis that doith me affray,And Jupiter becummyn myne ennemy.Ne mor he said, bot blent about in hy,And dyd aspy quhar that a gret roke lay,Ane ald crag stane huge gret and gray,Quhilk on the plane, percace, was liggand neir,A marche set in that grand mony ȝeirOf twa feildis, forto decern tharbyThe ald debait of pley or contrauersy;Scarsly twys sax stowt walit men and wight,Quhilk now the erd producis, hes sik mychtTo charge it on thar schuldris or to beir;Quham full lychtly Turnus, that nobill heir,Hynt in hys hand, and swakkit at his fo,And raxit hym on hicht thar vndir alsso,And tharwith chargit a full swyft curs ran.Bot sa confundit is this douchty man,That he ne knew hym selvyn in that sted,Nowder quhar that he ran, nor quhar he ȝed.Nor felt hym self liftand on the landThe mekill stane, nor steir it with his hand:Hys kneis stummerit, and hys lymmys slydis,The blude congelit for feir within hys sydis;So that the stane he at his foman threwFayntly throwowt the voyd and waist air flew,Ne went it all the space, as he dyd mynt,Nor, as he etlyt, perfornyst not the dynt.Lyk as, sum tyme, in our swevyn we tak keip,Quhen langsum dravillyng or the onsound sleipOur eyn oursettis in the nyghtis rest,Than semys ws full bissy and full prestThat we ws streke, and doith adres in hyLang renkis for to mak and ryn swiftly:Bot all for nocht, for at the first assay,Or in the myddis of the start, by the way,All fante we faill, as forfeblit war we;The tung avalis not, it will not be;Ne ȝit the strenthis in our body knawSemys sufficient to ws at that thraw;For, set we pres ws fast to spek owt braid,Ne voce nor wordis followys, nocht is said.Siklyke wys hes this Goddes myschewsOmbeset all the ways of Turnus:Quhat evir to do by hys strenth etlyt he,Scho maid obstakill; all that ganestandis sche.Than in hys mynd becom his wittis strange,And begouth forto vary and to change;And oft he dyd behald Rutilianys,And oft the cite with all that ryall wanys:He hovirris all abasyt for dreid and feir,And gan do quaik, seand at hand the speir;Ne can he fynd quhiddir away to wend,Nor on quhat wys hym self he may defend,Nor with quhat strenth assaill hys aduersar,Nor be na ways persaue hys cart or char,Nor se hys sistir, that had hys cartar be.And as he stud on hovyr thus, EneThe fatale dedly speir in hand gan tays,And with hys eyn markit and walit hasAne place be fortoun to smyte oportune,And with the hail fors of hys body soynFurth from hys hand weil far the lance gan thraw.Neuer sa swiftly quhidderand the stane flawSwakkit from the engyne onto the wall,Nor fulderis dynt, that causis towris fall,With sik a rummyll com bratland on sa fast.Lyke the blak thud of awfull thundris blastFurth flaw the schaft to smyte the dedly straik,And with it brocht cruell myschewos wraik;Quhilk throu the hawbrik skyrtis persyt has,And the extreme bordour gan arrasOf hys strang scheild, cowchit of sevyn ply,And quhirrand smait hym throw the thee in hy:That with the dynt huge Turnus, full onsound,With faldyn howchis duschit to the grund.Vpstart Rutilianys sammyn complenyngWith a ȝelloch and cairfull womentyng,Quhill all the hillys rumysit thame abowt,And far on breid thyk woddis gaue a schowt.And Turnus than, quhar he at erth dyd ly,Addressis furth full humyll and lawlyTowart Ene hys syght and eyn tway,And strekis eik hys rycht hand hym to pray:And thus he said; forsuyth, I haue deserveThe deth, I knaw, and of thy hand to sterve,Ne wil I not beseik the me to spair;Oys furth thy chance: quhat nedis proces mar?Bot gif that ony cuyr or thocht, quod he,Of ony wofull parent may twich the,Haue rewth and mercy of kyng Dawnus the ald;Thou had forsuyth, as I haue hard betald,Anchises, sik a fader as is he;And me, or than, gif bettir lykis the,My body, spulȝeit and the life byreft,Onto my folkis thou may rendir eft.Thou hes me venquyst, I grant, and me ourcum;Italian pepill present all and sumHes sene streke furth my handis humylly;Lavinia is thy spows, I not deny:Extend na forthir thy wraith and matalent.Eneas stern in armys tho presentRolland hys eyn toward Turnus dyd stand,And lyst nocht stryke, bot can withdraw hys hand;And mor and mor thir wordis, by and by,Begouth inclyne hym to reuth and mercy,Abydand lang in hovir quhat he suld do:Quhen, at the last, on Turnus schuldir, lo!The fey gyrdill hie set dyd appeir,With stuthis knaw and pendes schynand cleir,The belt or tysche of the child Pallas,Quhilk by this Turnus laitly venquyst was,As we haue said, and with a grews wondSlane in the feld, bet doun, and brocht to grund;And Turnus, in remembrans of this thing,Abowt his schuldris bair this onfrendly syng.Bot eftir that Eneas with hys eynSa cruell takynnys of dyseys hes seyn,And can sik weid byreft thar aspy,All full of furor kyndlys he inhy,Full brym of ire and terribill thus can say:Sall thou eschape me of this sted away,Cled with the spulȝe of my frendis deir?Pallas, Pallas, with this wond rycht heirOf the ane offerand to the Goddys makkis,And of thy wikkit blude punytioun takkis.And sayand thus, full fers, with all hys mayn,Law in hys breist or cost, lay hym forgayn,Hys swerd hes hyd full hait; and tharwithallThe cauld of deth dissoluyt hys membris all:The spreit of lyfe fled murnand with a grane,And with disdeyn vnder dyrk erth is gayn.

HEIR THE TRANSLATOUR OF THIS BUK MAKIS MENSIOUN OF THRE OF HYS PRYNCIPALL WARKIS

Lo thus, followand the flowr of poetry,The batellys and the man translait haue I:Quhilk ȝoir ago in myne ondantit ȝouth,Onfructuus idylnes fleand, as I couth,Of Lundeys Lufe the Remeid dyd translait;And syne of hie Honour the Palyce wrait;Quhen paill Aurora, with face lamentabill,Hir russet mantill bordowrit all with sabill, &c.

TO KNAW THE NAYM OF THE TRANSLATOUR

The Gaw onbrokkyn mydlyt with the Wyne,The Dow jonyt with the Glas richt in a lyne:Quha knawys nocht the Translatouris naym,Seik na forthar, for lo, with litill pyneSpy leill this vers; men clepys hym swa at haym. Quod the compilar G. D.

THE PROLOUG OF THE THRETTENE BUKE OF ENEADOS EKIT TO VIRGILL BE MAPHEUS VEGIUS

Towart the evyn, amyd the symmyris heit,Quhen in the Crab Appollo held hys sete,Duryng the joyus moneth tyme of June,As gone neir was the day, and supper doyn;I walkyt furth abowt the seildis tyte,Quhilkis tho replenyst stud full of delyte,With herbys, cornys, catal, and frute treis,Plente of stoir, byrdis and byssy beysIn amerant medis fleand est and west,Eftir laubour to tak the nychtis rest.And as I lukit on the lift me by,All byrnand red gan walxin the evyn sky:The son enfyrit haill, as to my sight,Quhirlit about hys ball with bemys brycht,Declynand fast towart the north in deid,And fyry Phlegon, his dun nychtis steid,Dowkit hys hed sa deip in fludis grayThat Phebus rollis doun vndir hell away;And Esperus in the west with bemys brychtVpspryngis, as forrydar of the nycht.Amyd the hawchis, and euery lusty vaill,The recent dew begynnys doun to scaill,To meys the byrnyng quhar the son had schyne,Quhilk tho was to the neddir warld declyne:At euery pilis poynt and cornys croppisThe techrys stude, as lemand beryall droppis,And on the hailsum herbis, cleyn but wedis,Lyke cristal knoppis or smal siluer bedis.The lyght begouth to quynchyng owt and faill,The day to dyrkyn, declyne, and devaill;The gummys rysis, doun fallis the donk rym,Baith heir and thar scuggis and schaddois dym:Vpgois the bak with hir pelit ledderyn flycht,The lark discendis from the skyis hycht,Syngand hir complyng sang, eftir hir gys,To tak hir rest, at matyn hour to rys:Owt our the swyre swymmys the soppis of myst,The nycht furthspred hir cloke with sabill lyst,That all the bewte of the fructuus feldWas with the erthis vmbrage cleyn ourheld;Baith man and beste, fyrth, flude, and woddis wild,Involuyt in tha schaddois warryn syld.Still war the fowlis fleis in the air,All stoir and catall seysit in thar lair,And euery thing, quharso thame lykis best,Bownys to tak the hailsum nychtis restEftir the days laubour and the heyt.Closs warryn all and at thar soft quyet,But sterage or removing, he or sche,Owder best, byrd, fysch, fowle, by land or sey:And schortlie, euery thing that doith repareIn firth or feild, flude, forest, erth or ayr,Or in the scroggis, or the buskis ronk,Lakis, marrasis, or thir pulys donk,Astabillit lyggis still to slepe, and restis;Be the smaill byrdis syttand on thar nestis,The litill mygeis, and the vrusum fleys,Laboryus emmotis, and the bissy beys;Als weill the wild as the taym bestiall,And euery othir thingis gret and small,Owtak the mery nychtgaill, Philomeyn,That on the thorn sat syngand fra the spleyn.Quhais myrthfull notis langyng fortil heir,Ontill a garth vndir a greyn lawrerI walk onon, and in a sege down sat,Now musyng apon this and now on that.I se the poill, and eik the Vrsis brycht,And hornyt Lucyne castand bot dym lycht,Becaus the symmyr skyis schayn sa cleir;Goldyn Venus, the mastres of the ȝeir,And gentill Jove, with hir participate,Thar bewtuus bemys sched in blyth estait:That schortly, thar as I was lenyt doun,For nychtis silens, and this byrdis sovn,On sleip I slaid: quhar sone I saw appeirAne agit man, and said; quhat dois thou heirVndir my tre, and willyst me na gude?Me thocht I lurkit vp vnder my hudeTo spy this ald, that was als stern of spechAs he had beyn ane medicyner or lech;And weill persavit that hys weid was strange,Tharto so ald, that it had not beyn change,Be my consait, fully that fourty ȝeir,For it was threidbair into placis seir:Syde was this habyt, round, and closyng meit,That strekit to the grund doun our his feit;And on his hed of lawrer tre a crown,Lyke to sum poet of the ald fassoun.Me thocht I said to hym with reuerens;Fader, gif I haue done ȝou ony offens,I sall amend, gif it lyis in my mycht;Bot suythfastly, gyf I haue perfyte sycht,Onto my doym, I saw ȝou nevir ayr:Fayn wald I wyt quhen, on quhat wys, or quhar,Aganyst ȝou trespassit ocht haue I.Weill, quod the tother, wald thou mercy cryAnd mak amendis, I sal remyt this falt;Bot, other ways, that sete salbe full salt.Knawis thou not Mapheus Vegius, the poet,That onto Virgillis lusty bukis sweitThe thretteyn buke ekit Eneadane?I am the sammyn, and of the na thyng fayn,That hes the tother twelf into thy toungTranslait of new, thai may be red and soungOur Albyon ile into ȝour wlgar leid;Bot to my buke ȝit lyst the tak na heid.Mastir, I said, I heir weill quhat ȝhe say,And in this cace of perdon I ȝou pray:Not that I haue ȝou ony thing offendit,Bot rathir that I haue my tyme mysspendit,So lang on Virgillis volume forto stair,And laid on syde full mony grave mater,That, wald I now write in that trety more,Quhat suld folk deym bot all my tyme forlore?Als, syndry haldis, fader, trastis me,Ȝour buke ekit but ony necessite,As to the text accordyng neuer a deill,Mair than langis to the cart the fift quheill.Thus, sen ȝhe beyn a cristyn man, at largeLay na sik thing, I pray ȝou, to my charge;It may suffys Virgill is at ane end.I wait the story of Jherom is to ȝou kend,Quhou he was dung and best intill hys sleip,For he to gentilis bukis gaif sik keip.Full scharp repreif to sum is write, ȝe wist,In this sentens of the haly Psalmyst;Thai ar corruppit and maid abhominabillIn thar studeyng thingis onprofitabill:Thus sair me dredis I sal thoill a heit,For the grave study I haue so long forleit.Ȝa, smy, quod he, wald thou eschape me swa?In faith we sall nocht thus part or we ga!Quhou think we he essonȝeis hym to astart,As all for consciens and devoit hart,Fenȝeand hym Jherom forto contyrfeit,Quhar as he lyggis bedovyn, lo, in sweit!I lat the wyt I am nane hethyn wight;And gif thou has afore tyme gayn onrycht,Followand sa lang Virgill, a gentile clerk,Quhy schrynkis thou with my schort cristyn wark?For thocht it be bot poetry we say,My buke and Virgillis morall beyn, baith tway:Len me a fourteyn nycht, how evir it be,Or, be the faderis sawle me gat, quod he,Thou salt deir by that evir thou Virgill knew.And, with that word, doun of the sete me drew:Syne to me with hys club he maid a braid,And twenty rowtis apon my riggyng laid,Quhil Deo, Deo, mercy dyd I cry;And, be my rycht hand strekit vp inhy,Hecht to translait his buke, in honour of GodAnd hys Apostolis twelf, in the numbir od.He, glaid tharof, me be the hand vptuke;Syne went away, and I for feir awoik,And blent abowt to the north est weill far,Saw gentill Jubar schynand, the day star,And Chiron, clepit the syng of Sagittary,That walkis the symmyrris nycht, to bed gan cary.Ȝondyr dovn dwynys the evyn sky away,And vpspryngis the brycht dawyng of dayIntill ane other place nocht far in sundir,That to behald was plesans, and half wondir:Furth quynchyng gan the starris, one be one,That now is left bot Lucifer allone.And forthirmor to blason this new day,Quha mycht discryve the byrdis blisfull bay?Belyve on weyng the bissy lark vpsprang,To salus the blyth morrow with hir sang:Sone our the feildis schynys the lycht cleir,Welcum to pilgrym baith and lauborer:Tyte on hys hynys gaif the greif a cry,Awaik on fut, go till our husbandry;And the hyrd callis furth apon hys page,Do dryve the catall to thar pasturage:The hynys wife clepis vp Katheryn and Gill;Ȝa, dame, said thai, God wait, with a gude will.The dewy greyn, pulderit with daseis gay,Schew on the swerd a cullour dapill gray;The mysty vapouris spryngand vp full sweit,Maist confortabill to glaid all manis spreit;Tharto, thir byrdis syngis in the schawys,As menstralis playng, The joly day now dawys.Than thocht I thus: I will my cunnand kepe,I will not be a daw, I will not slepe,I will compleit my promys schortly, thusMaid to the poet master Mapheus,And mak vpwark heirof, and cloys our buke,That I may syne bot on grave materis luke:For, thocht hys stile be nocht to Virgill lyke,Full weill I wayt my text sall mony like,Sen eftir ane my tung is and my pen,Quhilk may suffys as for our wlgar men.Quha evir in Latyn hes the bruyt or glor,I speke na wers than I haue doyn before:Lat clerkis ken the poetis different,And men onletterit to my wark tak tent;Quhilk, as twiching this thretteynt buke infeir,Begynnys thus, as furthwith followis heir.

THE THRETTENE BUKE

CAP. I

Rutilian pepill, eftir Turnus deces,Obeys Eneas, and takis thame to hys pes.As Turnus, in the lattir bargan lostVenquyst in feild, ȝald furth the fleand gost,This marciall prynce, this ryall lord Enee,As victor full of magnanymyte,Amyddis baith the rowtis baldly standis;That to behald hym apon athir handisAstonyst and aghast war all hym saw.And tho the Latyn pepill haill on rawA fellon murnyng maid and wofull beir,And gan devoid and hostit owt full cleirDeip from thar breistis the hard sorow smart,With curage lost and doun smyttyn thar hart:Lyke as the huge forest can bewaillHys granys doun bet and his branchis skaill,Quhen thai beyn catchit and all to schakyn fastWith the fell thud of the north wyndis blast.For thai thar lancis fixit in the erd,And lenys on thar swerdis with a rerd;Thar scheldis of thar schuldris slang away,That bargan and that weir fast wary thai,And gan abhor of Mars the wild luf,Quhilk laitly thay desyrit and dyd appruf:The brydyll now refus thai nocht to dre,Nor ȝok thar nekkys in captiuite,And to implor forgifnes of all greiff,Quyet, and end of harmys and myscheif.As quhen that twa gret bullys on the planeTogiddir rynnys in bittir gret bargane,Thar lang debait mydland quhar thai standWith large blude scheddyng on athir hand,Quhill athir of thame onto the batalis fyneHys awyn bestis and heyrdis doys inclyne:Bot, gyf the prys of victory betydisTill ony of thir twa on athir sydis,Onon the catall, quhilkis favorit langerThe best ourcummyn as thar cheif and heir,Now thame subdewis vndir his ward inhyQuhilk has the ovirhand wonnyn and mastry,And of fre will, thocht thar myndis be thra,Assentis him till obey: and evin rycht swaThe Rutilianys, all thocht the gret syteThar breistis had bedowit and to smyte,With gret effray of slauchter of thar duke,Ȝit thocht thame levir, and haill to purpos tuke,To follow and obey, for all thar harmys,The gentill chiftane and bettir man of armys,And thame subdew to the Troian Enee,And hym beseik of peax and amyte,Of rest and quyet evirmar from the weir,For thame, thar landis, moblis, and other geir.Eneas tho with plesand voce furth braid,And, standand abuf Turnus, thus he said:O Dawnus son, quhou com this hasty rageInto thy breist with foly and dotage,That thou mycht nocht suffir the Troianys,Quhilkis at command of Goddis onto thir planys,And by power of hie Jove ar hiddir cary,Within the bundis of Italy to tary,And, all invane, thame so expellyng waldOf thar land of behest and promyst hald?Lern forto dreid gret Jove, and nocht gaynstand,And to fulfyll glaidly the Goddis command;And for thar greif weill aucht we tobe war:Sum tyme in ire will grow gret Jupiter,And oft remembrans of the wikkit wraikSolistis the Goddis tharof vengeans to take.Lo, now of all sik furour and effeirThe lattir meith and term is present heir,Quhar thou aganyst resoun and equyte,Aganyst lawte, and brokyn all vnyteOf consideratioun sworn and bund or now,The Troian pepill sair trublit hes thow.Behald and se the extreme fynale day,To geif all otheris gud exempill for ay,That it mot nevir lefull be aganeTyll ony to contempne gret Jove invane,As forto rays with sik dreid and effeirSa onworthy motioun of wikkit weir.Now beis glaid, bruke thyne armour but pled:Allace, a nobill corps thou lyggis ded,The gret Turnus! and, as to my demyng,Lavynya has the cost na litill thyng:Nor thou na schame nedys thynk in na part,That of Eneas hand thou kyllit art.Now cumys heir Rutilianys, but delay,The body of ȝour duke turs hyne away;I grant ȝou baith the armour and the man:Hald on, and do tharto all that ȝe can,As langis onto the honor of bereyng,Or to bewail the deth of sik a kyng.Bot the gret pasand gyrdill, and sik geirThat Pallas, my deir frend, was wont to weir,To Evander I will send, for tobeNa litill solace to hym, quhen he sall seHys felloun fa is kyllit thus, and knaw,Full glaid tharof, Turnus is brocht of daw.And netheles now, ȝe Italianys,That otherwys be clepe Ausonyanys,Ramembir heirof, and lern in tyme cummyngWith bettir aspectis and happy begynnyngTo move and tak on hand debait or weir:For, be the blyssit sternys brycht I sweir,Neuir nane ostis nor ȝit armour glaidlyAganyst ȝou in batal movit I;Bot constrenyt by ȝour fury, as is kend,With all my fors I set me to defendThe Troian party and our awyn ofspryng,As, lo, forsuyth this was bot lesum thing.No mor Eneas said, bot tharwithallAddressys hym towart hys cite wall,And throu the feildis socht full joyuslyTo hys new Troian reset and herbry.Sammyn hym followis all the rowt atanys,The pissans haill and ȝynkeris of Tewcranys,And our the planys, glaid and wondir lycht,Thar swyft stedis, as the fowle at flycht,Throw speid of fut assays by and by,And oft with bittir mouth dyd crying, fy!And can accus the Latyn pepill all,Oft fant folkis and sleuthfull dyd thame call;That with thar rerd and bemyng, quhar thai fair,For the deray full heich dynnys the air.