The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse
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VOLUME I
INCIPIT PROLOGUS IN VIRGILII ENEADOS
Lawd, honour, praysyngis, thankis infynyteTo the and thy dulce ornat fresch endyte,Maist reuerend Virgill, of Latyn poetis prynce,Gem of engyne and flude of eloquens.Thou peirles perle, patroun of poetry,Roys, regester, palm, lawrer, and glory,Chosyn charbukkil, cheif flour, and cedyr tre,Lantarn, laid stern, myrrour, and A per se,Maister of masteris, sweit sours, and spryngand well,Wyde quhar our all rung is thyne hevynly bell;I meyn thy crafty warkis curyus,Sa quyk, lusty, and maist sentencyus,Plesand, perfyte, and feilabill in all degre,As quha the mater beheld tofor thar E;In every volume quhilk the lyst do wryte,Surmontyng fer all other maner endyte,Lyke as the roys in June with her sweit smellThe mary guld or dasy doith excell.Quhy suld I than, with dull forhed and vayn,With rude engyne and barrand emptyve brayn,With bad harsk spech and lewit barbour tong,Presume to write quhar thy sweit bell is rung,Or contyrfate sa precyus wordys deir?Na, na, noth swa, bot kneill quhen I thame heir.For quhat compair betwix myd day and nycht,Or quhat compair betwix myrknes and lycht,Or quhat compair is betwix blak and quhyte,Far grettar difference betwix my blunt endyteAnd thy scharp sugurate sang Virgiliane,Sa wysly wrocht, with nevir a word invane.My waverand wyt, my cunnyng febill at all,My mynd mysty, thir may nocht mys a fall;Stra for thys ignorant blabryng imperfyte,Besyde thy polyst termys redymyte.And netheles with support and correctioun,For naturall lufe and frendely affectioun,Quhilkis I beir to thy warkis and endyte;All thocht, God wait, tharin I knaw full lyte;And that thy facund sentence mycht be songIn our langage alsweill as Latyn tong,Alsweill, na, na, impossibill war, per de;Ȝit with thy leif, Virgill, to follow the,I wald, into my rurall wlgar gros,Wryte sum savoryng of thyne Eneados.Bot fair I dreid forto disteyn the quyte,Throu my corruppit cadens imperfyte;Disteyn the, nay forsuyth, that may I nocht,Weill may I schaw my burall bustuus thocht,Bot thy wark sall endur in lawd and glory,But spot or falt, condyng etern memory.Thocht I offend, onwemmyt is thy fame,Thyne is the thank, and myne salbe the schame.Quha may thy versis follow in all degre,In bewtie, sentence, and in grauite?Nane is, nor was, ne ȝit salbe, trow I,Had, has, or sal haue sic craft in poetry.Of Helicon so drank thou dry the fludeThat of thy copios fouth or plenitude,All mon purches drynk at thy sugurit tun;So lamp of day thou art and schynand son,All otheris on fors mon thar lycht beg or borrow,Thou art Vesper and the day stern at morow;Thou Phebus lightnar of the planetis all,I not quhat dewly I the clepe sall,For thou art all, and sum, quhat nedis more,Of Latyn poetis that sens was, or before.Of the writis Macrobius, sans faill,In hys gret volume clepit Saturnaill.Thy sawys in sic eloquens doith fleit,So inuentive of rethorik flowris sweitThou art, and has so hie profund sentensTharto perfyte but ony indigens,That na lovyngis ma do incres thy fame,Nor na reproche dymynew thy gud name.Bot sen I am compellit the to translait,And not only of my curage, God wait,Durst interpryse syk owtrageus foly,Quhar I offend the les reprefe serve I;And that ȝe knaw at quhais instans I tukeForto translait this maist excellent buke,I meyn Virgillis volume maist excellent,Set this my wark full febill be of rent,At the request of a lord of renownOf ancistry nobill and illustir baroun,Fader of bukis, protectour to sciens and lair,My speciall gud lord Henry lord Sanct Clair,Quhilk with gret instance, diuers tymys seir,Prayt me translait Virgill or Homeir;Quhais plesour suythly, as I undirstude,As neir conjunct to his lordschip in blude,So that me thocht hys request ane command,Half disparit this wark I tuke on hand,Nocht fully grantand nor anys sayand ȝee,Bot only to assay quhou it mycht be.Quha mycht gaynsay a lord so gentill and kynd,That euer had ony curtasy in thar mynd,Quhilk, besyde hys innatyve pollecy,Humanyte, curage, fredome and chevalry,Bukis to recollect, to reid and se,Has gret delyte as euer had Ptholome?Quharfor to hys nobilite and estait,Quhatso it be, this buke I dedicait,Writtin in the langage of Scottis natioun,And thus I mak my protestatioun.Fyrst I protest, beaw schirris, be ȝour leif,Beis weill avisit my wark or ȝhe repreif;Consider it warly, reid oftar than anys,Weill at a blenk sle poetry nocht tayn is;And ȝit forsuyth I set my bissy pane,As that I couth, to mak it braid and plane,Kepand na sudron bot our awyn langage,And spekis as I lernyt quhen I was page.Nor ȝit sa cleyn all sudron I refus,Bot sum word I pronunce as nyghtbouris doys;Lyke as in Latyn beyn Grew termys sum,So me behufyt quhilum, or than be dum,Sum bastard Latyn, Franch, or Inglys oys,Quhar scant was Scottis, I had nane other choys.Nocht for our tung is in the selwyn skant,Bot for that I the fowth of langage want,Quhar as the cullour of his properteTo kepe the sentens tharto constrenyt me,Or than to mak my sayng schort sum tyme,Mair compendyus, or to lykly my ryme.Tharfor gude frendis, for a gymp or a bourd,I pray ȝou note me nocht at euery word.The worthy clerk hecht Lawrens of the Vaill,Amang Latynys a gret patron sans faill,Grantis quhen twelf ȝheris he had beyn diligentTo study Virgill, skant knew he quhat he ment;Than thou or I, my frend, quhen we best weynTo haue Virgil red, vnderstand, and seyn,The rycht sentens perchance is fer to seik;This wark twelf ȝheris first was in makyng eyk,And nocht correct quhen the poet gan deces;Thus for small faltis my wys frend hald thy pes.Adherdand to my protestatioun,Thocht Wilȝame Caxtoun, of Inglis natioun,In proys hes prent are buke of Inglis gros,Clepand it Virgill in Eneados,Quhilk that he says of Franch he did translait,It has na thing ado tharwith, God wait,Ne na mair lyke than the devill and Sanct Austyne;Haue he na thank tharfor, bot loys hys pyne,So schamefully that story dyd pervert;I red hys wark with harmys at my hart,That syk a buke, but sentens or engyne,Suldbe intitillit eftir the poet dyvyne;His ornate goldyn versis, mair than gilt,I spittit for dispyte to se swa spiltWith sych a wyght, quhilk trewly, be myne entent,Knew neuer thre wordis at all quhat Virgill ment:Sa fer he chowpis I am constrenyt to flyte.The thre first bukis he has ourhippyt quyte,Salfand a litill twychyng Polidorus,And the tempest furth sent by Eolus,And that full sempilly on hys awyn gys;Virgill thame wrait all on ane other wys.For Caxton puttis in hys buke out of toyn,The storm furth sent by Eolus and Neptune;Bot quha sa redis Virgill suythfastly,Sall fynd Neptune salf Eneas navy.Me lyst nocht schaw quhou thystory of Dydo,Be this Caxtoun is haill pervertit so,That besyde quhar he fenys to follow Bocas,He rynnys sa fer from Virgill in mony place,On sa prolixt and tedyus fasson,So that the ferd buke of Eneadon,Twichand the lufe and ded of Dido queyn,The twa part of his volume doith conteyn,That in the text of Virgill, trastis me,The twelt part scars contenys, as ȝe may se.The fyfte buke of the festis funerall,The lusty gammys, and plays palustrall,That is ourhippit quyte and left behynd,Na thing tharof ȝhe sall in Caxtoun fynd.The saxt buke eyk, he grantis, that wantis haill,And, for tharof he vnderstude nocht the taill,He callis it fenȝeit, and nocht for to beleif;Sa is all Virgill perchans, for by his leifJuno nor Venus goddessis neuer war,Mercure, Neptune, Mars, nor Jupiter,Of Fortune eik, nor hir necessite,Sik thingis nocht attentik ar, wait we,Nor ȝit admittis that quent philosophyHaldis sawlys hoppys fra body to body,And mony thingis quhilkis Virgill dyd rehers,Thocht I thame write furthfollowand hys vers.Nor Caxtoun schrynkis nocht siclyke thyngis to tellAs nocht war fabill, bot the passage to hell;But trastis weill, quha that ilke saxt buke knew,Virgill tharin ane hie philosophour hym schew,And, vnder the clowdis of dyrk poetry,Hyd lyis thar mony notabill history.For so the poetis, be ther crafty curys,In similitudes, and vndir quent figuris,The suythfast materis to hyde and to constreyn;All is nocht fals, traste weill, in cace thai feyn,Thair art is so to mak thar warkis fair,As in the end of Virgill I sall declair.Was it nocht eik als possibill Eneas,As Hercules or Theseus tyll hell to pas?Quhilk is na gabbyng suythly, nor na lie,As Jhone Bocas in the genealogieOf Goddys declarys, and lyke as ȝhe may reidIn the recolles of Troy, quha lest tak hed.Quha wait gyf he in visioun thydder wentBy art magike, sorcery, or enchantment,And with his faderis sawle dyd speke and meyt,Or in the lyknes with sum other spreit,Lyke as the spreit of Samuell, I ges,Raysit to King Saul was by the Phitones?I will nocht say all Virgill beyn als trew,But at syk thyngis ar possibill this I schew;Als in tha days war ma illusionys,By dewillich warkis and coniurationis,Than now thar beyn, so doith clerkis determ;For, blissit be God, the faith is now mair ferm.Enewch tharof, now will I na mor sayn,Bot onto Caxtoun thus I turn agane.The namys of pepill or citeis beyn so badPut by this Caxtoun, that, bot he had beyn mad,The flude of Touyr for Tibir he had nocht write;All men may knaw thar he forvayt quyte.Palente the cite of Evander kyng,As Virgill playnly makis rehersyng,Stude quhar in Rome now stant the cheif palyce;This sam buke eyk, in mair hepit malyce,On the self ryver of Touyr says playnlyEneas dyd hys cyte edify.Thus ay for Tibir Touyr puttis he,Quhilk mony hundreth mylis syndry be;For sykkyrly, les than wys authoris leyn,Ene saw nevir Touyr with hys eyn;For Touyr diuidis Grece from Vngary,And Tibir is cheif flude of Italy;Touyr is kend a grayn of that ryverIn Latyn hecht Danubium or Hyster,Or gyf it be Tanais he clepis sa,That flude diuidis Europ from Asia.In lyke wys eik this Caxtoun, all invane,Crispina clepis Sibilla Cumane,That in the text of Virgill, trastis ws,Hait Deiphebe douchtir of Glawcus,Quhilk was Eneas convoyar to hell.Quhat suld I langar on hys errouris dwell?Thai beyn so playn, and eik sa mony fald,The hundreth part tharof I leif ontald.The last sax bukis of Virgill all inferis,Quhilk contenys strang batalis and werys,This ilk Caxtoun so blaitly lattis ourslip,I hald my tung for schame, bytand my lyp.The gret afferis of athir host and array,The armour of Eneas fresch and gay,The quent and curyus castis poeticall,Perfyte symylitudis, and exempilis allQuharin Virgill beris the palm of lawd,Caxtoun, for dreid thai suld hys lippis scald,Durst nevir twich. Thus schortly for the namys,A twenty devill way fall hys wark atanys,Quhilk is na mair lyke Virgill, dar I lay,Than the nycht owle resemblis the papyngay.Quharfor ȝou gentill redaris I besichTraste on na wys at this my wark be sich,Quhilk dyd my best, as the wyt mycht atteyn,Virgillis versys to follow and no thing feyn.Ȝhe worthy noblys redis my wark for thy,And cast this other buke on syde far by,Quhilk, vndir cullour of sum strange Franch wycht,Sa franchly leys, oneith twa wordis gais rycht.I nold ȝhe trast I said this for dispyte;For me lyst with nane Inglis bukis flyte,Na with na bogill nor browny to debait,Nowder ald gaistis nor spretis ded of lait,Nor na man will I lakkyn nor dispys,My warkis till authorys be sik wys,Bot twichyng Virgillis honour and reuerens,Quha euer contrary, I mon stand at defens;And bot my buke be fundyn worth sik thre,Quhen it is red, do warp it in the see,Thraw it in the fyre, or rent it euery crum,Twichand that part lo heir is all and sum.Syne I defend and forbiddis euery wightThat can nocht spell thar Pater Noster rycht,Fortill correct or ȝit amend Virgill,Or the translatar blame in hys wlgar stile;I knaw quhat payn was to follow hym fut hait,Albeit you think my sayng intricate.Traste weill, to follow a fixt sentens or materIs mair practik, deficill, and far strater,Thocht thyne engyne beyn eleuate and hie,Than forto write all ways at liberte.Gif I had nocht bene to a boundis constrenyt,Of my bad wyt perchance I couth haue fenytIn ryme a ragment twys als curyus,Bot nocht be twenty part so sentencyus.Quha is attachit ontill a staik, we se,May go na ferthir bot wreil about that tre,Rycht so am I to Virgillis text ybund,I may nocht fle, les than my falt befund;For thocht I wald transcend and go besyde,His wark remanys, my schame I may nocht hyde;And thus I am constrenyt, als neir I may,To hald hys vers and go nane other way,Les sum history, subtell word, or the rymeCausith me mak digressioun sum tyme.So thocht in my translatioun eloquens skant is,Na lusty cast of oratry Virgill wantis;My studyus brayn to comprehend his sentensLeit me nevir taist hys flude of eloquens;And thus forsuyth becaus I was nocht fre,My werk is mair obscur and gros per de,Quharof, God wait, Virgill has na wyte,Thocht myne be blunt, hys text is maist perfyte.And ȝit persave I weill, be my consait,The kyng of poetis ganys nocht for rurall estait,Nor hys fresch memor for bowbardis; he or schoQuha takis me nocht go quhar thai haue ado:The sonnys lycht is neuer the wers, traiste me,All thocht the bak hys brycht bemys doith fle.Greyn gentill ingynys, and breistis curageus,Sik ar the pepill at ganys best for ws;Our werk desiris na lewyt rebalddaill,Full of nobilite is thistory all haill,For, euery vertu belangand a nobill man,This ornate poet, bettir than ony can,Payntand discryvis in person of Eneas;Not forto say, sikane Eneas was,Ȝit than by hym perfytly blasons heAll wirschip, manhed, and nobilite,With euery bonte belangand a gentill wycht,Ane prynce, ane conquerour, or a valȝeand knycht;In luffis cuyr eneuch heir sall ȝhe fynd;And schortly, Virgill left na thing behyndThat mycht hys volume illummyn or crafty mak;Reid quha hym knawys, I dar this vndertak,Als oft as ȝe hym reid, full weill I wait,Ȝhe fynd ilke tyme sum mery new consait.Thoght venerabill Chauser, principal poet but peir,Hevynly trumpat, orlege, and reguler,In eloquens balmy, cundyt, and dyall,Mylky fontane, cleir strand, and roys ryall,Of fresch endyte, throu Albion island braid,In hys legend of notabill Ladeis, saidThat he couth follow word by word Virgill,Wisar than I may faill in lakar stile;Sum tyme the text mon haue ane expositioun,Sum tyme the cullour will caus a litill additioun,And sum tyme of a word I mon mak thre,In witnes of this term oppetere;Eik, weill I wait, syndry expositouris seirMakis on a text sentens diuers to heir,As thame apperis, according thar entent,And for thar part schawis ressonys euident.All this is ganand, I will weill it swa be;Bot a sentens to follow may suffice me:Sum tyme I follow the text als neir I may,Sum tyme I am constrenyt ane other way.Besyde Latyn our langage is imperfite,Quhilk in sum part is the caus and the wyteQuhy that of Virgillis vers the ornate bewteIntill our tung may nocht obseruyt be;For thar be Latyn wordis, mony ane,That in our leyd ganand translatioun has nane,Les than we mynys thar sentens and grauyte,And ȝit scant weill exponyt; quha trewis nocht meLet thame interprit animal and homo,With many hundreth other termys mo,Quhilkis in our langage suythly, as I weyn,Few men can tell me cleirly quhat thai meyn;Betweyn genus, sexus, and speciesDiuersite in our leid to seik I ces;For obiectum and subiectum alsswaHe war expert couth fynd me termys twa,Quhilkis ar als ryfe amangis clerkis in scuyllAs evir fowlis plungit in laik or puyll.Logicianys knawys heirin myne entent,Vndir quhais boundis lurkis mony strange went,Quharof the proces, as now, we mon lat be.Bot ȝit twychyng our tungis penuryte,I meyn into compar of fair Latyn,That knawyn is maste perfite langage fyne,I mycht also, percace, cum lyddir speidFor arbor and lignum intill our leidTo fynd different proper termys twane,And tharto put circumlocutioun nane;Rycht so, by about spech oftyn tymysAnd semabill wordis we compile our rymys.God wait, in Virgill ar termys mony a hundirFortill expone maid me a felloun blundir;To follow alanerly Virgilis wordis, I weyn,Thar suld few vndirstand me quhat thai meyn;The bewte of his ornate eloquensMay nocht al tyme be kepit with the sentens.Sanct Gregor eik forbyddis ws to translaitWord eftir word, bot sentens follow al gait.Quha haldis, quod he, of wordis the properteisFull oft the verite of the sentens fleys.And to the sammyn purpos we may applyHoratius in hys art of poetry;Pres nocht, says he, thou traste interpreter,Word eftir word to translait thi mater.Lo he reprevis, and haldis myssemyng,Ay word by word to reduce ony thing.I say nocht this of Chauser for offens,But till excus my lewyt insufficiens;For as he standis beneth Virgill in gre,Vndir hym alsfer I grant my self to be.And netheles into sum place, quha kend it,My mastir Chauser gretly Virgill offendit.All thoch I be to bald hym to repreif,He was fer baldar, certis, by hys leif,Sayand he followit Virgillis lantern toforn,Quhou Eneas to Dydo was forsworn.Was he forsworn? Than Eneas was fals;That he admittis, and callys hym traytour als.Thus, wenyng, allane Ene to haue reprevit,He has gretly the prynce of poetis grevit.For, as said is, Virgill dyd diligens,But spot of cryme, reproch, or ony offens,Eneas for to loif and magnyfy;And gif he grantis hym maynsworn fowlely,Than all hys cuyr and crafty engyne gais quyte,Hys twelf ȝheris laubouris war nocht worth a myte.Certis, Virgill schawys Ene dyd na thing,From Dydo of Cartage at hys departyng,Bot quhilk the goddis commandit hym beforn;And gif that thar command maid hym maynsworn,That war repreif to thar diuinyte,And na reproch onto the said Enee.Als in the first, quhar IlioneusSpekis to the queyn Dido, says he nocht thus,Thar curs by fait was set tyll Italy?Thus mycht scho not pretend na just caus quhy,Thocht Troianys eftir departis of Cartage,Sen thai befor declaryt hir thar vayage.Reid the ferd buke quhar queyn Dido is wraith,Thar sal ȝhe fynd Ene maid nevir aith,Promyt, nor band with hir fortill abyde:Thus hym tobe maynsworn may nevir betyde,Nor nane onkyndnes schew forto departAt the bydding of Jove with reuthfull hart,Sen the command of God obey suld all,And vndir his charge na wrangwys deid may fall.Bot sikkyrly, of resson, me behufisExcus Chauser fra all maner repruffis,In lovyng of thir ladeis lylly quhyteHe set on Virgill and Eneas this wyte;For he was evir, God wait, all womanis frend.I say na mair, bot, gentil redaris heynd,Lat all my faltis with this offens pas by.Thou prynce of poetis, I the mercy cry,I meyn thou kyng of kyngis, lord etern,Thou be my muse, my gydar, and laid stern,Remittyng my trespas and euery mysThrou prayer of thy moder queyn of blys!Afald godhed, ay lestyng, but discrepans,In personys thre, equale of a substans,On the I call and Mary Virgyn myld;Calliope nor payan goddis wildMay do to me na thing bot harm, I weyn,In Criste is all my traste and hevynnys queyn.Thou virgyn moder and madyn be my muse,That nevir ȝit na synfull lyst refusQuhilk the besocht deuotly for supple;Albeit my sang to thy hie maiesteAccordis nocht, ȝit condiscend to my write,For the sweit liquor of thy pappis quhiteFosterit that prynce, that hevynly Orpheus,Grond of all gude, our Saluyour Ihesus.Bot forthirmor, and lawar to discend,Forgeif me Virgill gif I the offend,Pardon thy Scolar, suffir hym to ryme,Sen thou was bot ane mortal man sum tyme;In cace I faill haue me not at disdenȝe,Thocht I be lewit, my leill hart can nocht fenȝe:I sall the follow, suld I therfor haue blame,Quha can do bettir, sa furth in Goddis name.I schrynk nocht anys correkkit for tobeWith ony wight grundit on cherite,And glaidly wald I baith inquire and leir,And till ilke cunnand wight la to my myne eyr;Bot laith me war, but owther offens or cryme,Ane brimell body suld intertrike my ryme.Thocht sum wald swer that I the text haue vareit,Or that I haue this volume quyte myscareit,Or threpe playnly that I come nevir neir hand it,Or at the wark is wers than evir I fand it,Or ȝit argue Virgill stude weill befor,As now war tyme to schift the werst our scor;Ellis haue I said, thar may be na comparBetwix his versis and my stile wlgar.All thocht he stant in Latyn maist perfyte,Ȝit stude he nevir weill in our tung endyte,Les than it be by me now at this tyme.Gyf I haue falȝeit, baldly reprufe my ryme;Bot first, I pray ȝou, grape the mater cleyn,Reproche me nocht quhill the wark be ourseyn.Beis not our studyus to spy a moyt in myne E,That in ȝour awyn a ferry boyt can nocht se,And do to me as ȝhe wald be done to.Now hark schirris, thar is na mair ado;Quha list attend, gevis audiens, and draw neir,Me thocht Virgill begouth on this maner:I the ilk vmquhile that in the small ait reidTonyt my sang; syne fra the woddis ȝeid,And feildis about taucht tobe obesand,Thocht he war gredy, to the bissy husband,Ane thankfull wark maid for the plewchmanis art:Bot now the horribill stern dedys of Mart,The batalys and the man I will discryve.THE CONTENTIS OF EUERY BOOK FOLLOWING
The first contenys quhou the prynce EneAnd Troianys war dryve onto Cartage cite.The secund buke schawis the finale ennoy,The gret myscheif, and subuersioun of Troy.The thryd tellith quhou fra Troys citeThe Troianys careit war throu owt the see.The ferd rehersis of fair queyn DidoThe dowbill woundis, and the mortale wo.The fyft contenys funerale gemmys glaid,And how the fyre the navy dyd invaid.Into the saxt buke syne doith Virgill tell,Quhou that Eneas went and visseit hell.The sevynt Ene bryngis to hys grond fatale,And how Italianys Troianys schup to assale.Ontill Eneas gevis the auchten bukeBaith falloschip and armour, quha list luke.Dawnus son Turnus in the nynte, tak tent,Segis new Troy, Eneas tho absent.The tent declaris by the cost atanysThe batale betwix Tuscanys and Rutulanys.In the ellevynt Rutulyanys beyn ourset,By the deces of Camylla downebet.The twelft makis end of all the weir, but dowt,Throu the slauchtir of Turnus stern and stowt.The last, ekit to Virgillis nowmyr evynBy Mapheus, convoys Ene to hevyn.THE FIRST BUKE OF ENEADOS
CAP. I
The Poet first proponyng hys ententDeclaris Junois wreth and mailtalent.The batalis and the man I wil discrive,Fra Troys boundis first that fugitiveBy fait to Ytail come and cost Lavyne;Our land and sey kachit with mekil pyne,By fors of goddis abufe, from euery steid,Of cruell Juno throu ald remembrit fede.Gret pane in batail sufferit he alsso,Or he his goddis brocht in Latio,And belt the cite, fra quham, of nobill fame,The Latyne pepill takyn heth thar name,And eik the faderis, princis of Alba,Cam, and the wallaris of gret Rome alswa.O thou my muse, declare the causis quhy,Quhat maiestie offendit, schaw quham by,Or ȝit quharfor of Goddis the drery QueynSa feil dangeris, sik travell maid susteynA worthy man, fulfillit of piete:Is thare sik greif in hevynly myndis on hie?Thare was ane ancyant cite, hecht Cartage,Quham hynys of Tyre held intill heritage,Ennymy to Itail, standand fair and planeThe mouth of lang Tibir our forgane,Myghty of moblys, full of sculys seyr,And maist expert in crafty fait of weir:Of quhilk a land Juno, as it is said,As to hir special abuf al otheris maid;Hir native land for it postponyt scheCallit Samo; in Cartage sett hir see;Thar war hir armys, and here stude eik hir chair.This Goddes ettillit, gif werdis war nocht contrar,This realme to be superior and mastresTo all landis; bot certis, netheles,The fatale sisteris reuolue and schaw, scho kend,Of Troiane blude a pepill suld discend,Wailliant in weir, to ryng wydquhar, and syneCartage suld bryng ontill finale rewyne,And clene distroy the realme of Lybia.This dredand Juno, and forthirmor alswaRemembring on the ancyant mortell weirThat for the Grekis, to hir leif and deir,At Troy lang tyme scho led befor that day;For ȝit the causys of wreth war nocht away,Nor cruell harm forȝet ne out of mynd;Ful deip engravyn in hir breist onkyndThe jugement of Parys, quhou that hePreferrit Venus, dispisyng hir bewte;Als, Troiane blude till hir was odyus,For Jupiter engendrit Dardanus,Fra quham the Troianys cam in adultry,And Ganymedes revist abuf the sky,Maid him his butler, quhilk was hir douchteris office.Juno inflambit, musyng on thir casis nyce,The quhile our sey that salit the Troianys,Quhilkis had the ded eschapit, and remanysOnslane of Grekis or of the fers Achill,Scho thame fordryvis, and causys oft ga willFrawart Latium, quhilk now is Italy,By fremmyt werd ful mony ȝeris tharby,Cachit and blaw wydquhar all seys about.Lo quhou gret cure, quhat travell, pane, and dowt,Was to begyn the worthy Romanys blude!And as the Troianys frakkis our the flude,Skars from the sycht of Sysilly the land,With bent sail full, rycht merely saland,Thar stevynnys scowrand fast throu the salt fame,Quhen that Juno, till hir euerlestand schame,The etern wound hyd in hir breist ay greyn,Ontill hir self thus spak in propir teyn;Is this ganand, that I my purpos faillAs clene ourcum, and may nocht from ItaillWithhald thys kyng of Troy and his navy?Am I abandonyt with sa hard destany,Sen Pallas mocht on Grekis tak sik wraik,To byrn thar schippis, and all, for anys saik,Drowne in the sey, for Aiax Oilus wrang?From Jupiter the wild fyre down sche slangFurth of the clowdis, distroyt thar schippis all,Ourquhelmyte the sey with mony wyndy wall;Aiax breist persit, gaspand furth flawmand smoke,Sche with a thud stikkit on a scharp roke.Bot I, the quhilk am clepit of godis queyn,And onto Jove baith spous and sistir scheyn,With a pepill sa feill ȝheris weir sall lede;Quha sal from thens adorn in ony stedeThe power of Juno, or altaris sacryfy,Gif I ourcummyn be thus schamefully?