The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse

CAP. X

Of Poliphemus, and mony strange cost,And how Ene hys fader in Sycill lost.Skars this wes sayd, quhen sone we gat a sychtApon ane hyll stalkand this hydduus wight,Amang hys beystis, the hyrd Poliphemus,Down to the costis bekend draw towartis ws:A monstre horribyll, onmesurabill and myschaip,Wanting hys syght, and gan to stab and graipWith hys burdon, that wes a gret fyr tre,Fermand his steppis, becaus he mycht not se;The wollyt scheip him followyng at the bak,Quharin his plesur and delyte gan he tak.About hys hals a quhissil hung had he,Wes all his solace for tynsell of hys E;And, with his staf fra he the deip fludeTwichit, and cummyn at the seysyde stude,Of hys E dolp the flowand blude and attirHe wysch away al with the salt wattir,Grassilland his teith, and rummysand full hie.He wadis furth throu myddis of the see,And ȝit the wattir wet not hys lang syde.We, far from thens affrayt, durst not abyde,Bot fled onon, and within burd hes brochtThat faithful Greik quhilk ws of succurs socht,And prevyly we smyte the cabill in twane;Syne, kempand with aris in al our mane,Vp weltris watir of the salt sey flude.He persauyt the sownd, quhar that he stude,And towart the dyn movis hys pays onon:Bot quhen he felt at we sa far war gone,Sa that his handis ws areke ne mycht,Nor the deip sey Ionium, for all hys hycht,Ne mycht he waid equale ws to arest,A fellon bray and huge schowt vp he kest,Quharthrou the sey and al the fludis schuke;The land alhail of Itail trymlyt and qwoyk;And holl cavernys or furnys of Ethna rowndRummyst and lowyt, fordynnyt with the sound.Bot than, furth of the woddis and hillys hie,Walkynnyt with the cry, a huge pepill we seOf Ciclopes cum hurland to the port,And fillyt all the cost sydis at schort.Tha elrych bredyr, with thar lukis thrawyn,Thocht not avalyt, thar standyng haue we knawyn;Ane horribil sort, with mony camscho beik,And hedis semand to the hevyn areik:Syklyke as quhar that, with thar hie toppis,The byg akis strekyng in the ayr thar croppys,Or than thir cipressis berand heich thar bewys,Growand in the woddis or hie vp on hewis,In schawys ald, as men may se from far,Hallowyt to Dyane or ȝit to Jupiter.The scharp dreid maid ws so to cach haist,Withdrawand fast, as thocht we had bene chaist,And for to set our sail quhidder we best mycht,To follow the wynd, and hald na courssis rycht.Aganys the counsale of Helenus, our ferisPerswadis to hald furth evyn the way that sterisMydwart betwix Charibdis and Scylla,A litil space fra ded by athir of twa:For, bot we hald that cours, for owtyn fail,Bakwartis, thai said, on Ciclopes mon we saill.Bot lo! onon a fair wynd, or we wist,Rays of the north, blawing evyn as we lyst,From the strait bay of Pelorus the montAnd sone we swepyt by, at the fyrst bront,The mouth of flude Pantagyas ful of stanys,The sownd Megarus, and Tapsum ile atanys.The namys of thir costis, Achemenydes,The companȝeon of onhappy Vlixes,Raknys to ws, as we past ane by ane;For we return the sammyn went aganeQuhar thar navy had waverit by thar rays.Within the fyrth of Sycill, forgane the faceOf the flude Plemyrion full of wallis,Thar lyis ane Iland, quhilk our elderis callisOrthigia; quhar that the fame is soThat Alpheus, ane of the ryveris twoOf the cite of Elys in Archaid,Vndir the sey gan thyddir flow and waydThrou secrete cundytis, and now eik, as thai say,Arethusa, at thi mouth or ischay,It entris rynnyng in the Sycill see.The gret goddis of that place wirschip we,At command of my fader; and fra thyneThe fertill grond of Helory passyt syne,Quhilk flude watyris al the feild about.Thar on the craggis our navy stude in dowt;For on blynd stanys and rolkis hyrslit we,Tumblit of mont Pachynnus in the see:And far from thens the loch Cameryna,Quham the fatis forbyddis to do away,Apperis to ws, and of Geloy the feildis,Quhar that the gret cite Gela vpbeild is,Havand the surname fra the flude fast by:Syne heich Agragas far of we gan aspy,A hyl and cite with large wallys of fors,Quhar vmquhile bred war the maist weirlyke hors:And the alsso, Selynys, I left behynd,For al thi palm treys, with the followand wynd.The dangerus schaldis and cost vppykyt we,With al hys blynd rolkis, of Lylibe.Thar the port of Drepanon, and the rayd,Quham to remember my hart may nevir be glaid,Ressauyt me, quhar that, allace, allace!I leys my fader, al comfort and solace,And al supple of our travell and pane;Thar, thar allaik! sa feill dangeris byganeAnd tempestis of the sey. O fader most deir,Anchises, desolate quhy left thou me heirWery and irkyt in a fremmyt land?O weilaway! for nocht wes all, I fand,That thou eschapit sa mony perrellis huge.Helenus the dyvyne, as we with hym gan luge,Quhen horribill thingis seir he dyd aduert,Schew not befor to me thir harmys smert,Nor ȝit the fellon and akwart Celeno.This wes extreme laubour of pane and wo;Thys was the end of all hys lang vayage:And hyddir syne, warpyt with seys rage,Apon ȝour costis, as I fra thens was dryve,Sum happy chance and God maid me arryve.The Prynce Eneas, on this wys, alaneThe fatis of goddys and rasys mony aneRehersyng schew, and syndry strange wentis;The queyn and all the Tyrryanys takand tentis.And at the last he cessyt and said no moir,Endyng his tayll as ȝe haue hard befor.

THE PROLOUG OF THE FERD BUKE

With bemys scheyn thou bricht Cytherea,Quhilk only schaddowist amang starris lyte,And thi blyndyt weyngit son Cupyd, ȝe twaFosteraris of byrnyng, carnail, hait delyte,Ȝour joly wo neidlyngis most I endyte,Begynyng with a fenȝeit faynt plesance,Continewit in lust, and endyt with pennance.In fragil flesch ȝour fykkil seyd is saw,Rutyt in delyte, welth, and fude delicate,Nurist with sleuth and mony onsemly saw;Quhar schame is lost, thar spredis ȝour burgeonys hait;Oft to revolue ane onleful consaitRypys ȝour peralus frutis and oncorn:Of wikkyt grayn quhou sal gude schaif be schorn?Quhat is ȝour fors bot feblyng of the strenth?Ȝour curyus thochtis quhat but musardry?Ȝour fremmyt glaidnes lestis not ane howris lenth;Ȝour sport for schame ȝe dar not specify;Ȝour frute is bot onfructuus fantasy;Ȝour fary joys beyn bot janglyng and japys,And ȝour trew seruandis sylly goddys apys.Ȝour sweit myrthis ar mixt with byttyrnes;Quhat is ȝour drery gemme? a myrry pane;Ȝour wark onthrift, ȝour quyet is restles,Ȝour lust lykyng in langour to remane,Frendschip turment, ȝour traist is bot a trane:O luf, quhidder art thou joy or fulychnes,That makis folk sa glaid of thar distres?Salomonys wyt, Sampson thou rubbist hys fors,And Dauid thou byreft hys prophecy;Men says thou brydillyt Aristotyll as ane hors,And crelyt vp the flour of poetry:Quhat sal I of thi myghtis notyfy?Fair weil, quhar that thy lusty dart assalis,Wyt, strenth, ryches, na thyng bot grace avalis.Thou cheyn of luf, ha benedicite!Quhou hard strenys thi bandis euery wyght!The god abuf, from his hie maieste,With the ybond, law in a maid dyd lycht;Thou venquyst the strang gyant of gret mycht;Thou art mair forcy than the ded sa fell;Thou plenyst paradyce, and thou heryt hell.Thou makist febill wight, and lawyst the hie;Thou knyttis frendschyp quhar thar beyn na parage;Thou Jonathas confederat with Davy;Thou dantyt Alexander for all his vaslalage;Thou festnyt Jacob fourteyn ȝheir in bondage;Thou techit Hercules go lern to spyn,Reke Dyomeir hys mays and lyoun skyn.For luf Narsysus perysyt at the well;For luf thou stervyst most douchty Achill;Thesyus, for luf, hys fallow socht to hell;The snaw quhyte dow oft to the gray maik will.Allace! for luf how mony thame self dyd spill!Thy fury, luf, moderis taucht, for dispyte,Fyle handis in blude of thar ȝong chyldering lyte.O Lord, quhat writis myne author of thi fors,In hys Georgikis! quhou thyne ondantyt myghtConstrenys so sum tyme the stonyt horsThat, by the sent of a meyr far of syght,He bradis brays onon, and takis the flyght;Na brydill may hym dant nor bustuus dynt,Nowther bra, hie roch, nor brayd fludis stynt.The bustuus bullys oft, for the ȝong ky,With horn to horn wyrkis othir mony a wound,So rumysyng with hydduus lowand cryThe feildis all doith of thar rowstis resound:The meyk hartis, in bellyng, oft ar fondMak fers bargane, and rammys togyddir ryn;Baris twyte thar tuskis, and fret otheris skyn.The reuthtfull smart and lamentabill caceQuhilk thar he writis of Leander ȝyng,Quhou for thi luf, Hero, allace, allace!In fervent flambe of hait desyre byrnyng,By nychtis tyde, the hevynys lowd thundering,And, all with storm trublyt, the seys fludeBettand on the rolkis, and rowtand as it war wod;Set he hym not to swym our, wallaway!The fyrth betwix Sestos and Abydane,In Europe and in Asya citeis tway;Hys fader and moder mycht hym not call agane:O God, quhat harm! thar wes he drynt and slane;And quhen his lufe saw this myscheif, atanysOut our the wall scho lap, and brak hir banys.Lo, quhou Venus kan hir seruandis acquyte!Lo, quhou hir passionys onbridillis al thar wyt!Lo, quhou thai tyne thame self for schort delyte!Lo, from all grace quhou to myscheif thai flyt,Fra weil to sturt, fra payn to ded! and ȝytThar beyn bot few exempil takis of othir,Bot wilfully fallys in the fyre, leif brothir.Be nevir our set, myne author techis so,With lust of wyne nor warkis veneryane;Thai febill the strenth; revelys secrete bath twoStryfe and debait engendris, and feil hes slane;Honeste, prowes, dreid, schame and luk ar ganeQuhar thai habound; attempyr thame for thy.Childir to engendir oys Venus, and not invane;Hant na surfat, drynk bot quhen thou art dry.Quhat? is this lufe, nys luffaris, at ȝe meyn,Or fals dissait fair ladeys to begile?Thame to defowle, and schent ȝour self betweyn,Is al ȝour lykyng, with mony suttel wyle.Is that trew lufe, gude faith and fame to fyle?Gyf luf be vertu, than is it lefull thing;Gif it be vyce, it is ȝour ondoyng.Lust is na lufe, thocht ledis lyke it weill;This furyus flambe of sensualiteAr nane amouris bot fantasy ȝe feill:Carnale plesance, but syght of honeste,Hatis hym self forsuyth, and luffis nocht the:Thare beyn twa luffis, perfyte and imperfyte,That ane leful, the tother fowle delyte.Lufe is a kyndly passioun, engendryt of heytKyndlyt in the hart, ourspredyng al the cors:And, as thou seys sum person waik in spreyt,Sum hait byrnyng as ane onbridillyt hors;Lyke as the pacient hes heyt of our gret fors,And in ȝong babbys warmnes insufficient,And into agyt failȝeis, and is out quent;Rycht so in luf thou may be excessyve,Inordinatly luffand ony creature;Thi luf alsso it may be defectyve,To luf thine awin and geif of otheris na cure:Bot quhar that lufe is rewlyt by messure,It may be lyknyt to ane hail mannis estait,In temperat warmnes, nowthir to cald nor hait.Than is thi lufe inordinat, say I,Quhen ony creatur mair than God thou luffis,Or ȝit luffis ony to that fyne, quharbyThi self or thame thou frawartis God remufis:Fortil attempir thine amouris the behuffis:Lufe euery wyght for God, and to gude end,Thame be na wys to harm, bot to amend.That is to knaw, lufe God for his gudnes,With hart, hail mynde, trew servyce, day and nycht;Nixt luf thi self, eschewand wykkytnes;Lufe syne thi nychtburris, and wyrk thame nane onrycht,Willyng at thou and thai may haue the syghtOf hevynnys blys, and tyste thame not tharfra,For, and thou do, syk luf dowe nocht a stra.Faynt lufe, but grace, for all thi fenȝeit layis,Thy wantoun willis ar verray vanyte;Grasles thou askis grace, and thus thou prayis;Haue mercy, lady, haue reuth and sum piete!And scho, reuthtles, agane rewys on the:Heir is na paramouris fund, bot all haitrent,Quhar nowthir to weill nor resson tak thai tent.Callys thou that reutht, quhilk of thar self ne rakkis?Or is it grace to fall fra grace? nay, nay;Thou sekis mercy, and tharof myscheif makkis:Renown and honour quhy wald thou dryfe away?A brutale appetyte makis ȝong fulys forvay,Quhilk be resson lyst not thar heyt refreyn,Haldand opynyon deyr of a boryt beyn.Says nocht ȝour sentens thus, skant worth a fas,Quhat honeste or renoun is to be dram?Or forto drowp lyke a fordullyt as?Lat ws in ryot leif, in sport and gam;In Venus covrt, sen born tharto I am,My tyme weil sal I spend. Wenys thou not so?Bot al ȝour solace sal return in gram,Syk thewles lustis in byttir pane and wo.Thou auld hasard lichour, fy for schame,That slotteris furth euermar in sluggardryOut on the, auld trat, agit wyfe, or dame,Eschamys na tyme in rovste of syn to ly!Thir Venus warkis in ȝouthed ar foly,Bot into eild thai turn in fury rage;And quha schameles dowblis thar syn, ha fy!As doith thir vantouris owthir in ȝouth or age?Quhat nedis avant ȝou of ȝour wykkytnes,Ȝhe that beyn forcy alane in villans deid?Quhy gloyr ȝe in ȝour awyn onthriftynes?Eschame ȝhe not rehers and blaw on breidȜour awyn diffame, havand of God na dreidNor ȝyt of hell, provokand otheris to syn,Ȝhe that lyst of ȝour palȝardry nevir blyn?Wald God ȝhe purchest bot ȝour awyn myschans,And war na banareris forto perych mo!God grant sum tyme ȝe turn ȝou to pennans,Refrenyng lustis inordinate, and cry ho!And thar affix ȝour luf and myndis so,Quhar euer is verray joy without offens,That all syk beistly fury ȝhe lat go hens.Of brokkaris and syk bawdry quhou suld I write,Of quham the fylth stynkis in Godis neys?With Venus henwyffis quhat wys may I flyte,That strakis thir wenschis hedis thame to ples?Douchtir, for thy lufe this man hes gret dyseys,Quod the bysmeyr with the slekyt speche;Rew on hym, it is meryte hys pane to meys:Syk poyd makcrellis for Lucifer beyn leche.Eschame, ȝyng virgynys, and fair damycellis,Furth of wedlok forto disteyn ȝour kellys;Traist nocht al talis that wanton woweris tellis,Ȝow to deflour purposyng, and nocht ellys:Abhor syk pryce or prayer wirschip sellys.Quhar schame is lost quyte schent is womanhed;Quhat of bewte, quhar honeste lyis ded?Rew on ȝour self, ladeys and madynnys ȝyng,Grant na syk reuth for evir may caus ȝou rew:Ȝhe fresch gallandis, in hait desyre byrnyng,Refreyn ȝour curage syk paramouris to persew;Grund ȝour amouris on charite al new;Found ȝow on resson; quhat nedis mair to preche?God grant ȝou grace in luf, as I ȝou tech!Fy on dissait and fals dissymulans,Contrar to kynd with fenȝeit cheir smylyng,Vndyr the cloik of luffis obseruans,The venom of the serpent reddy to styng!Bot al syk crymys in luffis caus I resyngTo the confessioun of morale Jhonne Gower;For I mon follow the text of our mater.Thy dowbill wound, Dido, to specify,I meyn thyne amouris, and thi funeral fait,Quha may endyte, but teris, with eyn dry?Augustyne confessis hym self wepit, God wait,Redyng thy lamentabill end mysfortunat.By the wil I repeyt this vers agane,Temporal joy endis wyth wo and pane.Allace, thy dolorus cays and hard myschance!From blys to wo, fra sorow to fury rage,Fra nobylnes, welth, prudens and temperance,In brutell appetite fall, and wild dotage;Danter of Affryk, Queyn foundar of Cartage,Vmquhil in ryches and schynyng gloyr ryngnyng,Throw fulych lust wrocht thine awyn ondoyng.Lo! with quhat thocht, quhat byttyrnes and pane,Lufe onsylly bredis in euery wight!Quhou schort quhile doith hys fals plesance remane!Hys restles blys how sone takis the flicht!Hys kyndnes alteris in wraith within a nycht:Quhat is, bot turment, all hys langsum fayr,Begun with feir, and endyt in dispayr?Quhat sussy, cuyr, and strange ymagynyng,Quhat ways onlefull, hys purpos to atteyn,Hes this fals lust at his first begynnyng!Quhou subtell wylis, and mony quyet meyn!Quhat slycht dissait quently to flat and feyn;Syne in a thraw kan not hym selvyn hyde,Nor at his first estait no quhile abyde!Thou swelch, deuourar of tyme onrecoverabill,O lust, infernal furnys, inextingwybill,Thy self consumyng worthis insaciabill,Quent fendis net, to God and man odibill!Of thi tryggettis quhat tong may tell the tribbill?With the to wrasyll, thou walxis euer moir wyght;Eschew thyne hant, and mynnys sal thi mycht.Se, quhou blynd luffis inordinate desyreDegradis honour, and resson doith exile!Dido, of Cartage flour, and lamp of Tyre,Quhais hie renoun na strenth nor gift mycht fyle,In hir faynt lust sa mait, within schort quhile,That honeste baith and gude fame war adew;Syne for disdeyn, allace! hir selvyn slew.O! quhat avalit thi brute and gloryus name,Thi moblys, tresour, and werkis infinyte,Thi citeis beilding, and thi ryal hame,Thy realmys, conquest, weilfar and delyte?To stynt al thing salue thine awyn appetiteSo wes in lufe thi frawart destane:Allace the quhile thou knew the strange Ene!And sen I suld thy tragedy endyte,Heir nedis nane othir invocatioun:Be the command I lusty ladeis quhyte,Be war with strangeris of onkouth natiounWyrk na syk woundris to thar dampnatioun;Bot til attayin wild amouris at the thai leir:Thy lusty pane begouth on this maneir.

THE FERD BUKE OF ENEADOS

CAP. I

The thochtfull queyn, with mony amorus claws,Til hir systir complenys in luffis caws.Be this the Queyn, throw hevy thochtis onsound,In euery vayn nurysys the greyn wound,Smytyn so deip with the blynd fyre of lufeHir trublyt mynd gan fra all rest remufe.Compasing the gret prowes of Ene,The large wirschip feill sys remembris scheOf his lynnage and folkis; for ay presentDeip in hir breist so was hys figur prent,And all hys wordis fixt, that, for bissy thocht,Noyn eys hir membris nor quyet suffir mocht.The nixt day following, with hys lamp brychtAs Phebus dyd the grund or erth alycht,Eftir the dawing heth the donk nychtis clowdChasyt from the sky, and the ayr new schrowd;Ful evil at eys queyn Dido on this kyndSpak to hir systir, wes of the sammyn mynd.My sistir An, quhat swevynnys beyn thir, quod sche,Quhilk me affrays in sik proplexite?Quhat be he, this gret new gest or stranger,Onto our realm laitly is drevyn heir?Quhou wys in speche, and in his commonyng,He schawys hym self! O God, quhat wondir thing!Quhou stout in curage! in weir quhou vailȝeand!I trow sistir, and, as I vndirstand,Myne opinion is nane oncertane thing,Thai beyn sum lynnage of verray goddis ofspring;For dreid always and schaymful kowardysDegeneryt wightis and bowbartis notyfys.Allace! quhat wondir fatale aventurisHes hym bywaif! quhat travel, pane and curis,How huge batellis, be hym eschewit, tald he!Now, certis, war it not determyt with me,And fixit in my mynd onmovabilly,That to no wyght in wedlok me list ICuppil nor knyt, sen my first luf is gane,By deth dissoverit, and left me alane;War not alsso to me is displesantGenyvs chalmyr or matrymone to hant;Perchans I mycht be venquist in this rage,Throu this a cryme of secund mariage.Annes, I grant to the, sen the decesOf my sory husband Syche, but les,Quhar that our hows with brodyrris ded wes sprent,Only this man hes movit myne entent,And heth my mynd inducyt to forvay:I knaw and felis the wemmys and the wayOf the ald fyre and flambe of luffis heit.Bot rather I desyre baith cors and spreitOf me the erth swelly law adown,Or than almychty Jove with thundris sovnMe smyte ful deip onto the schaddoys dern,Amang pail gastis of hellis holl cavern,In the profond pot of deth and dyrk nycht,Or I becum so schamful wrachit wyghtThat I myne honeste fyle or womanhed,Or brek ȝour lawis; na, quhil I be ded!He, that me first to hym in wedlok knyt,My first flowr of amouris tuke, and ȝytFor euermair with hym he sal thame haue,And he most keip thame with hym in his grave.Thus sayand, the brycht teris onon owtbrist,And fillyt all hir bosum or scho wist.Annes answerd; O thou, sa mot I thryve,To thi systir derrar than hir awyn lyve,Quhiddir gif thou wilt alane, in wedowhed,Evir murnand thus waist away thy ȝouthed,Nowthir ȝyt the comfort of sweit childring thou knawis,Nor the plesour felis of Venus lawys?Quhat! wenys thou assys cald and gastis in graveOf al syk walyng ony fest sal haue?In cays that in thi duyl afor thir days,Thy lord new ded, the list inclyne na waysNowthir prynce nor duke to tak as for husband;Suppos thou lychtlyit than, of Lyby land,Hyarbas kyng, and othir heris all,Quhilkis in the rich sulȝe triumphallOf Aufrik boundis dwelling wyde quhar;Quhat! wilt thou als debatyng euer marAgane this lykand lufe, cummys of plesance?Consideris thou not, and hes in remembrance,Amyddys quhays grond heir thou remanys?On this hand, citeis of Getulyanys,A kynd of pepill invincibill in batell;Heir the ondantit folk of Numyda dwell,And, on that other part, ombyset, I wys,We ar with bustuus onfrendly Syrtis;And ȝondir the desert region alsswa,Ay full of thryst, in barrand Libya;And wydquhar thens the wild pepil of Barchay.The weris moving from Tyre quhat sal I say,And the gret brag and mannans of our brothir?Be disposicioun of goddis, I weyn, nane othir,And by the purvyans of Juno, to our supple,Thir Troiane schippis by prospir wynd our seeHeth hyddir set thar coursys fortunate.O systir myne, consider in quhat estaitThys cite, quhilk thou beildis, sal vprys!Persaue quhou that this realm may, on syk wys,Beyn vpheyt throu sa nobil a mariage!Behald quhou mekill the glory of CartageSalbe extollyt, and encres in euery thyng,Throu help in armys of the Troianys ofspryng!Quharfor, the nedis beseik goddis of thar grace,With sacrifyce, tobe favorabil in this cace.Do set alhaill thi cure and diligenceTo causyng hym mak with the residence,And fenȝe causys to tary hym and wythhald,So lang as thus, duryng the wyntir cald,The sey ragis throu watry Orion,And quhil the stormys be al our blawyn and gon;And quhil hys schippis, with the tempest schaik,Be bet, byd spair nowthir fyr, elm, nor aik.

CAP. II

Dido enflambyt in the lusty heyt,With amorus thochtis trublys al hir spreit.Wyth thir wordys the spreit of Dido queyn,The quhilk tofor in lufe wes kyndlyt grene,Now al in fyre the flambe of lufe furth blesys;Hir doutsum mynd with gude hope so scho esysThat al the schame and dreid wes blaw away;And to the tempill furth held tha baith tway.Eftir the serymonys of thar payane gys,Beneuolence and gude luk, syndry wys,Thai sekyng and thai sers at ilke altar;And twyntris, walit for sacrifyce, heir and tharThai brytnyt; and sum in honour dyd addresOf the law ledar Ceres, the goddes;To Phebus, and to Bachus part alsso;Bot principaly onto the queyn Juno,Quhilk heth in cuyr the band of mariage.Hir self, most gudly queyn Dido of Cartage,Held in hir richt hand a cowp full of wyne;Betwix the hornys twa furthȝet it syneOf ane ontamyt ȝong quy, quhite as snaw:And, othir quhilis, wald scho raik on raw,Or pays tofor the altaris, wyth fat offerandisAy chargyt full; and oft, with hir awyn handis,Renew and beyt the sacrifyce all day;And rich gyftis geif Troianys; and wald ayThe beistis costis, as thai debowellit wer,And thar entralis behald flekkyr and steir,Accordyng the auld vsans to that effect,Sum augury to persaue or gude aspect.O wallaway! of spamen and dyvynysThe blynd myndis, quhilkis na way diffynysThe fors ne strenth of Luf with hys hard bandis!Quhat avalyt thir sacrifice and offerandis?Quhat helpis to vyssy tempillis in luffis rage?Behald onhappy Dido of CartageIn this meyn sesson byrnyng hait as gleyd:The secrete wound deip in hir mynd gan spreyd,And of hoyt amouris the subtell quent fyreWaistis and consumys merth, banys, and lyre.Our all the cite enragyt scho heir and tharWandris, as ane strykkyn hynd, quhom the stalkar,Or scho persave, from far betis with hys flaneAmyd the woddis of Creyt, and lattis remaneThe braid hed, onknaw the beste was hyt:Scho skypping furth, as to eschew the byt,Gan throu the forest fast and gravys glyde;Bot evir the dedly schaft stykkis in hir syde.Sum tyme the queyn Ene with hir dyd leidThrou owt the wallys onto euery steid,The tresour al and riches of SydonySchawyng to hym; and offerit al reddyThe cite of Cartage at hys commandment:Begyn scho wald to tell furth hir entent,And in the myd word stop, and hald hir styll.And quhen the evyn come, it wes hir willTo seik ways hym to feste, as scho dyd ayr;And, half myndles, agane scho langis sayrFor tyll enquyre and heir the sege of Troy,And in a stair behaldis hym for joy.Eftir all wes voydyt, and the licht of dayAy mair and mair the moyn quynchit away,And the declynyng of the starris brychtTo sleip and rest persuadis euery wight,Within hir chalmyr alane scho langis sayr,And thocht al waist for lak of hir luffar.Amyd a voyd bed scho hir laid adoun,And of hym absent thinkis scho heris the sown;Hys voce scho heris, and hym behaldis sche,Thocht he, God wait, far from hir presens be:And sum tyme wald scho Ascanyus, the page,Caucht in the figur of hys faderis ymage,And in hir bosum brace, gif scho tharbyThe lufe ontellabill mycht swik or satisfy.The wark and wallys begun ar not vpbrocht;The ȝounkeris dedis of armys excersis nocht;Nothir fortres nor turettis suyr of weirNow graith tha mair; for al the wark, but weir,Cessis and is stoppyt, baith of pynnakillis hie,And byg towris, semyt to rys in the skie.

CAP. III

Tyl Venus carpys Juno the goddes,And of thar spech and sermond, mar and les.Alsswyth as Juno, with syk maleys ourtane,Persauyt hir deir frend that remeid was nane,Nothir fame ne honour the rage resyst mycht,Saturnus douchtir with syk wordis on hyghtBegouth to carp onto Venus, I wys;A huge honour and lawd ȝe sal of thisRaport, and richt large spulȝe beir away,Thou and thi child forsuyth, quod scho, bath tway:O Lord, quhou gret power and notabil mycht,Gif that, of twa hie goddis throu the slycht,A sylly woman sal ourcummyn be!Not so, I wys, hes thou dissavyt me,Bot that I knaw thou had in feir and dreidOur cite, and held the lugyng suspek, in deid,Of our renownyt hie burgh of Cartage.Bot on quhat wys sall sesyng al this rage?Or now quhat nedis sa gret stryfe and contak?Far rather perpetuell pes lat ws mak,And knyt vp band of mariage thartill,Sen thou hes gottin al thyne hartis will;For Dido byrnys in hait lufe al atanys,The brym fury glydis throu owt hir banys.Lat ws thir pepill to ws common, for thy,Be frendly favouris govern equaly;So that it lesum be Dido remaneIn spousage bund, and serve a lord Troiane,And suffir Tirreanys, and al Lyby land,Be geif in dowry to thi son in hand.Than Venus, knawing hir spech of fenȝeit mynd,To that effect scho mycht the Troiane kynd,And werys to cum furth of Itail alsswa,With hald and kepe from boundis of Lybia,Answerd and sayd: quhat wikkyt wyght wald euerRefuys syk proffyr, or ȝyt with the had levirContend in bataill, or stand at debait,Gif that, as thou rehersis, the deid algaitAls sovirly mycht follow fortunabill?Bot I affeir me les the fatis onstabill,Nor Jupiter, consent not, ne aggre,That bot a cite to Tyryanys suld beAnd eik to folkis from Troy in vayage cummyn,Or list appreif thai pepillis all and summynTogiddir myddill, or joyn in lyge or band.Thou art hys spows; til the to tak on handIs lefull with request hys mynd to assay.Pas on befor, I follow the perfay.Than Juno queyn syk answer maid agane:This laubour I tak on hand, al myne alane.Bot on quhat wys, sen tyme is convenabill,The fasson quhou this stant to do maist habill,Hark, at schort wordys that poynt I sal ȝou say.Eneas and onsilly Dido, baith tway,To forest grathis in huntyng furth to wend,To morow, als fast as Titan doith ascend,And our the warld gan hys bemys spreid.Quhen that the rangis and the faid on breidDynnys throu the gravys, sersyng the woddis wyde,And setis set the glen on euery syde,I sal apon thame a myrk schour down skaillOf weit and wynd, mydlit wyth fellon haill,And all the hevyn with thundyrris blast sa steirThat all thar falloschip sall withdraw for feir.Enclosyt with a myst als dyrk as nychtDido and eik the Troiane duke full rycht,Alanerly, bot be thame selvyn twane,Togiddir sal entir in a cave of stane:Thar sal I be reddy, and, but delay,Gif thi mynd be ferm tharto the ilk day,In sovir wedlok I sal conioyn hir thar,To be his propir spous for euermair:Apon this wys thar wedding salbe wrocht.Affermys all hir wil, contrarying nocht,Of Cetheron Venus the goddes brycht,Lauchyng scho fund had so controvit a slycht.