To the Richt High Lodvvik Duke of Lenox :: :: University of Virginia Library

As I went throw ane wood sauage,
As did Æneas to Carthage,
Compast with clouds about,
I wanderd, and I wist not quhair,
As ane mad man, into dispair:
astonisht to wyn out.
The wode wes gret, and wondrous lang,
Of lenth and largitude,
The treis thairof, war stark and strang,
And full of fortitude:
Amasing, and gasing,
Thir treis for to behald,
So schenlie, and menelie,
Thair tops thay did dounfald.

I saw the Ashtre and the Aik,
That Æolvs gart yeild and zaik,
By his maist bitter blast,
Thocht thay were strang, he gart thame stoup
And all the trees into that troup,
That war affixit fast:
The storme so bitterlie brake out,
as wonder wes to se,
The boriall blasts, with mony schout,
In that forrest did fle:
Not caldly, bot baldlie,
Thay thudit throw the treis,
With rairding, and fairding,

On hie the fier fleis.

The air, wes than vntemperat,
And with rubie skies, ranculat,
Mixit with weit and wind,
And euery fleing foul that fed,
Ran bissilie hame to thair bed,
Rest and repose to find,
Not onely fleing fouls I say,
Bot beists of diuers kynds,
Laich on the ground, richt lawly lay,
Amasit in thair mynds:
Sum shaking, and quaking,
For feir, as I esteeme,
Oretowting, and rowting,
Into that storme extreme.

The Lyon and the Leopard,
From louping, and scouping war skard,
And faine for to fall doun,
And als, the awfull Vnicorne,
For all his bost, wes not forborne,
Thocht he wes nixt the croun:
Likwais the Beir, that bitter beist,
Wes fellonlie afraid,
And all the Wolfis, ran west and eist,
Trowing to be betraid:
Deploring, and roring,
Wes in that wildernes,
Sum lying, sum trying,
The cours of cairfulnes.

The Drummadrareis left thair feists,
With Tygers and tyrannius beists,
Thay war so faine to flit,
Thair wes the fals Camelion,
With the big Eliphant anon,
A beist of bodie grit,

Howbeid, he be maist corpolent,
Zit durst he not repose,
Quhair he wes wont for to frequent,
The storme so strangely rose:
Thir two now, did go now,
Sum solit pairt to find,
To waird thame, and gaird thame,
From bitter blaists of wind.

The Hart, with his fair forked horns,
Quhois pikes is sharpe, as ony thorns:
Richt lawly did doun ly,
So fast the Deir ran to his den,
His coulour, I culd skantlie ken,
Or portrature espy.
The wilie Tod came by me to,
With violence and speid,
For feir the he Fox, left the scho,
He wes in sick a dreid:
Quhiles louping, and scowping,
Ouer bushis, banks, and brais,
Quhiles wandring, quhiles dandring,
Like royd and wilzart rais.

The Wildbair, that wanhappie beist,
Quhois tusks of lenth, war at the leist,
Ane quarter lang and mair,
Into ane furie, he ran fast,
Throw all the placis quhair he past,
With mony rout and rair:
Also the Wood Dog, did sicklike,
The storme for till eschew,
This cruell and tyrannius tyke,
Vpon the hard treis knew:
No swaging, his raging,
Micht mittigat or meis,
Sick badnes, and madnes,

Throw kind he did aqueis.

The Wildcat worst of all the laue,
Into that pairt I did persaue,
Fleing for his refuge,
The storme was so outragius,
And with rumlings oragius,
That I for feare did gruge:
Than out that come the akquart Aip,
That Murgens wont to mak,
Richt narowly I saw him scaip,
Vnbreking of his bak:
He hang so, and flang so,
Fast felterd be the feit,
His haist than, had maist than,
Cost him ane winding sheit.

Out come the gyrnen Gennet syne,
With vther twasum in a tryne,
All of ane quantitie,
For faircenes, sum fell on thair face,
So raschely thay ran out thair race,
To keip gud companie:
Thair wes na bus, culd hald them bak,
So trimly thay culd scoup,
Nor yet no Tike, culd them oretak,
So lichtlly thay did loup:
Not playing, but braying,
To se that tempest than,
Amaisdlie, and baisdlie,
Richt bissilie thay ran.

Thair wes the Pikit Porcapie,
The Cunning, and the Con all thrie,
Merchen amangs the rest,
I wat thay wantit na gud will,
To ryn with all speid possibill,

Quhill thay wan to thair nest:
Also the Hare I haue forzet,
The spediest of all,
His hasty rinning maid him het,
Nane neidit him to call:
Not tyring, nor myring,
Among the mossis deipe,
Bot tichtly, and richtly,
His awin cours he did keipe.

Out come the Edder at the last,
Vpon his wamb crieping ful fast,
Seikand ane hole to hyde him,
Bot becaus he was venimus,
And for to touch contagius,
No beist wald byde beside him:
Vpon his wamb thus wayis he went,
Maist miserablie thair,
For na beist with him wald frequent,
Nor cum vndir his snair:
Thay dred so, and fled so,
From his societie,
That nane thair, his wane thair
Wald support or supplie.

The Basilique that beist maling,
Of Serpents quhilk is countit King,
Ran quhill he wes the war,
Thair was the Viper, and th' aspect,
With the serpent Cheliderect,
Quhois stink is felt a far:
Thair was the serpent Cencrastus,
A beist of filthy braith,
And als the Serpent Cerastus,
Quhois byte brings sudden deith:

Latet anguis in herba.

Thir Vipers, and cripers,
amang the grene gars lay,
Doun louring, and couring,

Quhill storme wes went away.

The Fumart and the Fittret straue,
The deip and howest hole to haue,
That wes in all the wood,
About the trie ruts thir twa ran,
Zit all in vaine na thing thay wan,
Bot did thole mony thud:
For cauld they war discomfeist clene,
The schowrs wer sa seueir,
Bot I who was ane pure Pilgren
And half ane stronimeir:
Forschew thair, and knew thair,
Sic tempest suld betyde,
Than ran I, and wan I,
In ane hole me to hyde.

Out come the Quhitteret furthwith,
Ane littill beist of lim and lith,
And of ane sober schaip,
To haue ane hole he had grit hast,
Zit in the wood thair was nane wast,
To harberie that iaip:
Than out that come the Modiwart,
Ane beist throw nature blind,
Quho fast the eirth culd scraip and scart,
Rest and refuge to finde:
Quhiles dodling, and todling,
Vpon fowr prettie feit,
Quhiles scrubbing, quhiles rubbing,
The ground quhair it was weit.

Thir beists heir befoir nominat,
May esilie be numerat,
The calcull is bot small,
For by thir beists I saw anew,
Quhois nams befoir I neuir knew,

Nor how men did thame call:
Sick beists as I had seene before,
Thair names I did reteene,
Bot thair wes mony in that store,
That I had neuer seene:
Sum mikill, sum littill,
Of mony syndrie sort,
That hantit, and plantit,
That place to be thair port.

Sum proper were of portrature,
Of lith and lim, pretie and pure,
and hantsum to behald,
Quhois nams, I na wais culd expreme,
Nor to my iudgement weill esteme,
The flox into that fald:
It wes ane wonder for to se,
So gret ane multitude,
Without all mediocritie,
Amangst the treis that stud:
Eschewing, the dewing,
Of ranie Orion,
That dropit, and knopit,
Baith vpon tre and stone.

Quhat farlie than thocht fouls that fleis,
With gret pains and perplexiteis,
War greuously tormentit,
Quhen gret wild beists, of lim and lith,
Imployd with pissance strenth and pith,
For feir, thame selfis absentit:
And into hols and bors thame hyd,
The storme for till eschew,
For quhy, the wind, with mony quhyd,
Maist bitterly thair blew:
With quhirling, and dirling,
The fudder fell so thick,

Doun dryuing, and ryuing,
The leiues that thay did lick.

First Iovis foule, the Eagill fair,
I saw discend down from the air,
Syne to the wood went he,
The Hiron and the fleing Hairt,
Come fleing from ane vther pairt,
beside him for to be:
Ane fellon tryne, com at his taill,
Fast flichtren throw the skise,
Bot suddenly, that scull did skaill,
Thairfore thay war mair wise:
Than fled thay, and sched thay,
Euery ane from ane vdder,
Doun louching, and coutching,
To fle the flichts of fudder.

The fierie Dragon, flew on hie,
Out throw the skies, richt cutterlie,
Syne to the ground come doun,
Into ane furie fast he flew,
To haue an hald, him to reskew,
As strangers to ane toun:
Nixt come the Gorgoull and the Graip,
Twa feirfull fouls indeid,
Quho vsis oft to like and laip,
The blud of bodies deid:
Thame druging, and ruging,
With thair maist cruell clukis,
Sik hashing, and knashing,
Cums not of clenlie cukis.

The Airne and the Goshalk syne,
That dentely had wont to dyne,
On Pairtrik and on Pliuer,
With feir, thair famin wes forzet,

With blasts of wind thay war so bet,
And lancit throw the liuer:
With the schairp speir of apetyte,
Howbeid, thair harts was perst
Yit thay for meit, caird not ane myte,
Nor zit no succour cerst:
So fain than, vnslain than,
Thameselfs they wald haue keipit,
That surelie, maist purelie,
Vpon the ground thay creipit.

Quhat suld I say, the Gok, the Gled,
With speidie flycht, richt fast thay fled,
From feding on the plaine,
And thair I saw the milke quhyte Swan,
Conuoy the Wodcock and the Cran,
Of quhome thay war richt faine:
The Bisset and the Corbe baith,
Flew fast befoir the laue,
Laith war thay to kep ony skaith,
Or ony harme to haue:
So slelie, and frelie,
From dangers thay thame fred,
In speiding, exceiding,
All vthers into tred.

The Houlet and the Herison,
Out of the airt Septentrion,
Come with ane feirfull voce,
The Houlet had sick awfull cryis,
Thay corrospondit in the skyis,
As wind within a boce:
Quhois cryis and clamours terius,
I compair to the zell,
Of that gret tike Cyberius,
The cruell hound of hell:
Quhois zouling, and gouling,

I haue na will to heir,
Sick singing, and springing,
Is irksum to the eir.

The Arrondell so swift of flicht,
Doun on the land richt law did licht,
So sore he wes oprest,
The Alcions lykwais left the See,
And to the schore richt fast culd flee,
For to recouer rest:
The Calicrat, that lytle thing,
Bot, and the hony Bie,
That wont before, to skip and spring,
Into the air so hie:
With mumming, and bumming,
The Bee now seiks his byke,
Quhils stinging, quhils flinging,
From hole to hole did fyke.

The Cygonie, that foul so whyte,
Quhilk at the Serpents hes despyte,
Come granen to the ground,
And Mamuks, that byds euer mair,
And feids into the cristall air,
Deid on the feilds wer found:
The Gru, before me thair apeirs,
Quhois legs wer lang and syde,
From the Septentrion quhilk reteirs,
Into the winter tyde:
This foul now, did zoull now,
As it had bene ane beist,
Quhyls quhinging, quhyls cringing,
With paine it wes so preist.

The Tuquheit and the Sterling than,
Togidder with the Pelican,
Flew in ane randell richt,

The Piet and the Papingo,
With the Goldspink I saw thame go,
Syne laich thay did doun licht:
Behaulding thir horrible things,
Almaist, my eis grew blind,
To se thair pretie spirtlet wings,
So felterd with the wind:
Dispairit, I stairit,
Vp to the element,
Behalding, thair walding,
How thay in ordour went.

The Merle and the Mauice trig,
Flew from the bush quher thay did big,
Syne tuke thame to the flicht,
The Osill and the Rosignell,
The Phœnix and the Nichtingell,
Twa fouls baith fair and bricht:
Quhois pretie wings I did persaue,
So spurtlit and so spred,
Thir fouls, I couit faine to haue,
So clerlie thay war cled:
Thair hew so, furth schew so,
To my twa mortall eis,
That I thair, stud by thair,
Contempling to the treis.

The Stainzell, and the Schakerstane,
Behind the laue, war left alane,
With waiting on thair marows,
The snype, with sundry vther fouls,
With cairfull cries, laments and youls,
And specially pure Sparrows:
The meikill fouls war not to mene,
So meikill as the small,
Zit thay did meikill to mentene,
Thair bodies out of thrall:

Fast fallowing, with wallowing,
And mony cairfull cry,
Intransit, I pansit,
Thair panis for till espy.

The Hobbie and the Hedder bluter,
Aloud the Gæ to be thair tuter,
Thame to conduct and gyde,
The Cucko and the Couchet can,
The Lawrok and the littill wran,
Had sikker be thair syde:
And mairatour I tell to zow,
The Pown I did persaue,
Togidder with the turtill Dow,
The last of all the laue:
This fidder, togidder,
Vnto the wood ar went:
Sum murning, and turning,
Into the firmament.

Of ilk perticuler fowle to treit,
It war ouir tedious to repeit,
Quhairfore I thocht it best,
In this cathaloge to conuene
Ane bonie nomber, bot I mene,
Renouncing all the rest:
Bot as I spak to zow before,
Tuitching the multitude,
I wat thair was ten thousand score
Of birds and beists maist brude:
To ken tham, or pen tham,
My wit it wes to waik,
Or zit thair, to sit thair,
On sik consaits to glaik.

I was afflixit in my mynde,
And als with caris I was inclynd,

To be in sick a stait,
I hapnit in ane wildernes,
Quhair I chanst to gang in beges,
Be ganging out the gait:
Vainly and temerariuslie,
Into that pairt I past,
Bot he that wald faine fairles sie,
Sall find thame at the last:
Belyue syne, aryue syne,
Within the wood did I,
Quhair I ay, did spy ay,
Wyld beists fast rynning by.

Fra time I enterd in that pairt,
I saw na passage to depairt,
Nor entrie to win out,
To heir the Wildbeists bray and beir,
My febill flesh, did faint for feir,
Na takin I was stout:
God wat, gif I wes in gret paine,
I wist not quhair to ryn,
Nor zit culd find the gait againe,
First, quhair I enterd in:
Bot tauren, and dauren,
Like ane daft doitit fule,
Afflikit, and prickit,
With dairts of cair and dule.

How culd I be, bot full of cair,
And halflings put into dispair,
So to be left alone,
Quhair I with na man micht confar,
Nor zit within ten myls wes nar,
Till ony toune or waine
The tempest did continew still,
Thair wes baith weit and wynd,
And Evrvs with loud schouts and schill,

His braith begoud to fynd:
With quhewing, renewing,
His bitter blaists againe,
Seueirly, not sneirly,
To you, I make it plaine.

The wadder wes not lyke to mend,
Nor zit, to draw to ony end,
Quhairthrow it micht be fair,
Bot ay the Tempest did acres,
And na waies lykin to grow les,
Bot rather to be mair.
The Wyldbeists crap doun quietlie,
The wedder was so rud,
For thay micht haue no facultie,
To pas and seik thair fud:
The tall beists, the small beists,
Did eit and slae thairfore,
The meikill fouls, the litill fouls,
In lykwais did deuore.

The ritch, the pureons ay oprest,
I mene the meikillest, ay the lest,
Dulfullie did doun thring,
Without all pitie or respect,
Of the inferiours threw the nek,
Quhilk wes ane cruell thing:
Gif ony persoun maist prophane,
Wald call sick slauchter syne,
It may be answert heir agane,
Neid nakit man gars ryne:
Gret neid than, indeid than,
Compeld thame so to do,
Or els thair, thame selfs thair,
For till haue perisht to.

Thay culd nat do na les indeid,

Seing that thair was na remeid,
Bot ether do or die:
Gif vtherwayis thay micht haue done,
Thay had run furth and socht it sone,
Bot so it micht not bie:
Thair harts with hunger was so peirst,
That thay behou'd haue fude,
For this caus thay baith socht and serst,
How thay micht haue thair blude:
Begyling, and syling,
The eies of sillie beists,
Thame taking, and making,
Prouision for thair feists.

The litill beists maid hauie mane,
With the grit beists to be oretane,
And so to be destroyed,
Thair murning micht thame na thing mend
Bot only thair to mak ane end,
Of that quhilk thay enioyed:
Within that Wildernes desart,
thair was grit nomber slane,
The wyld foulis on the vther part,
Did play the counterpane:
Abusing, and vsing,
The small fouls at thair will,
But treitie, or pitie,
Not sparing it to spill.

Sum fled for feir to saue them sels,
And vther sum with zouts and zels,
Maist cairfully did cry,
Gif thay had caus our selfis may iuge,
Seing that thair was na refuge,
How that thay micht win by:
Bot as the foular casts his cair,
His catch for to preuent,

So thay war trapit in the snair,
Into ane accident:
Still wating, and gating,
Quhyll thay war all oretane,
Dispaching, and knashing,
In ordour, ane and ane.

Than struke ane terror in my mynd,
For to persaue, thir pure beists pynd,
Quhilk micht make na debait,
Gret broucherie and bludshed maid,
About the pairt, quhair I abaid,
Sick wes thair wofull stait:
Astonisht I stud, trymbling thair,
Forfant, for verie feir,
And as the sillie huntit hair,
From ratchis maks reteir:
Quhylis rysing, quhylis vysing,
Quhylis saying to my sell,
My stait now, and gait now,
apeirs to pas to hell.

I thocht I ay descendit doun,
And so for feir, I fell a soun,
But mouing sens or sicht,
For feir, and quhat for laik of fude,
My body empty wes of blude:
In me thair wes na micht:
My spreit perturbit wes so sair,
With vysions and with dreims,
That I lay comfortles in cair,
In troubils and extreims:
Quhylis demyng, quylis dremyng,
I lay into ane trance,
Quhylis panyng, quhylis vanyng,
So sudden wes my chance.

My febill corps, did faint richt soune,
For I saw neither sun nor moune,
No planets did apeir,
Quhat stakren stait, was this to me,
To be in sick obscuritie,
Gif this wes paine I speir:
Than softlie did I suoufe and sleipe,
Howbeid my bed wes hard,
Into ane den profound and deipe,
Quhair I with nane wes scard:
Radoting, starnoting,
As wearie men will do,
Supyring, quhiles wyring,
My tender bodie to.

FINIS. Heir endeth the first Passage of the Pilgrimer.

BE HONOR I LEVE.

THE SECOVND PASSAGE OF THE PILGRIMER.

First in my visioun I saw,
Montains and Muris, orecled with snaw,
And all the bewis maid bair,
And syne I thocht, I saw gret Seis,
Quhois michtie force, Neptvn dois meis,
As Dominator thair:
The Iland Egeos, I did se,
Neptvnvs hallowit hill,
Quhilk stands into the Grecian Se,
Quhair fluds dois flow and fill:
Besyde thair, maist wyde thair,
Mount Locas micht be seene,
With Scillia, and Dosina,
Quhair grows the marbell greene.

Erix that monstrus mountaine hie,
Quhois hauture hes na quantitie,
As Poets dois report,
This michtie mountaine, micht be seene,
Quhairon thair stands, ane Temple scheene,
Weill buildit thair athort:
This Tempill did the Troians found,
To Venvs, as we read,
The stains thairof war marbell sound,
Lyke to the Lamer bead:

This muldrie, and buldrie,
Was maist magnificall,
Maist royall, and ioyall,
Trim and pontificall.

Quhair I sat musing mine alone,
OLympus mont of Macedone,
I thocht stud me before,
Mont Emus, thair apeird to me,
Quhair Orphevs leird his harmonie,
And melodiuell lore:
I saw the riuer Tagus to,
Quhair goldin sands did schyne,
Quhair that the Nymphs hes ay ado,
With all the Musis nyne:
As Nerides, and Driades,
Twa Nymphs, of gret renoun,
With Cleo, and Crato,
Till Helicone wer boun.

The Rochis repercust and rang,
Quhair that the Tritons plaid and sang,
On trumpis tresexcellent,
Thair Pan plaid on his pleasant pype,
And Orphevs on his Harpe sicklike,
Ane pretty instrument:
That sound wes so celestiall,
And so melodius,
Aboue all things terrestriall,
The maist iucundius:
Maist sweitest, and meitest,
For wearie men like me,
Quhois noying to ioying,
Wes changit suddenlie.

Sick mirthfull menstrellie wes thair,
I wait that neuer man saw mair,

Into so schort a space,
I musit, and I merueld syne,
To se that hie triumphant tryne,
Of peopill in that place:
Than curiously I did inquire,
At ane quho stud me by,
Quho Prences was, or had impire,
Of that maist fralik fry:
A maid than, me said than,
I sall you tell bedeene,
Our maistres, and goddes,
Venvs that lustie Queene.

Quhair boun ye to my frend, sche sais,
Astonishtly me thinke ye gais,
Tell me quhat mouis your mynd,
Gif ze gang wrang, I sall you gyde,
Apearandly thou wanderst wyde,
I se weill be your synd:
For this place is maist perrillus,
And dangerous indeid,
And thir mountains are maruellus,
Quhair all Wyldbeists dois breid:
Maist terribill, and horribill,
Is this wanhappy gait,
Sick dangers, puts strangers,
Into ane stakren stait.

Gif thou go fordward, thou sall se,
Neritos with his rochis hie,
Quhair Gyants hes thair hyuis
Thair rochis thou sall se anew,
Quhair Hercvles the lyon slew,
As Virgil weill descryuis:
Into thir pairts, thair nane repairs,
Except it be our sels,
For heir belangs, our haill affairs,

As I haue tauld the els:
Bot we than, ye se than,
Nane may mak hanting heir,
Vnles now, expres now,
To daith thay wald apeir.

Heir is the pairt thou may espy,
Quhair Cacvs, in his caue dois ly,
That monster maist seueir,
Vpoun his zet deid heidis ar hung,
Of agit folke, and children young,
Quho had bene walken heir:
This Cacvs, lyis not heir alon,
Bot mony Gyants mea,
The ofspring zit of Gerion
Quhome Hercvles did flea,
Pocessis, and dressis,
Thir placis as thay pleis,
Tormenting, and shenting,
Mens blud of all degreis,

I can not tell quhat thou sall do,
Bot take gud tent, quhair thou gangs to,
The danger dois draw neir,
The Gyants heir are conuocat,
Agains pure pepill to combat,
Quho hapins to cum heir:
Euin as the blyndman gangs beges,
In houering far behynd,
So dois thou dandill in distres,
Quhilk I feir thou sall fynd:
Bewar now, ore far now,
To pas into this place,
Consydring, quhat fydring,
Lyis in your gait alace.

As hils humectat are with dew,

Avroras teirs for to renew,
Quhilk Tytan dois distell,
With sackles blud, quhilk heir is shed,
So are thir placis haill orespred,
Lamentabill to tell:
Ane pepill maist hyronius,
Rustik, ignare, and rud,
And na ways Elimosnius,
Bot buriours in blud:
All hours ay, in bours ay,
Exspecting for thair pray,
With gredur, but dredur,
Awaiting in the way.

I wish to God, gif thou wer than,
Transformd in portrait of a Swan,
As Iove did quhen he dred,
With fedret wings to fle on hie,
So that thou micht in safetie be,
And from all dangers fred:
Gif that thou culd discryue the cairt,
The way thou wald go richt,
Or siluer Dian, do depairt,
The regent of the nicht,
To fle syne, on he syne,
Out throw the cluddie air,
As bounting, vp mounting,
Aboue the feilds so fair.

Thir catif miscreants, I mene,
As buriours hes euer bene,
Wordie to vilipend,
The practise of thair pariceid,
And barbrus cruell homiceid,
Is not till vs vnkend:
Quhairfore my frend, it is my will,
Sum vtherway ye wynd,

For execrabill curst and ill,
Thir catifs are of kynd:
Surprysing, and vysing,
Pure Pilgrims how to trap,
Still lurking, in wurking,
Sum mater of mishap.

At lenth, this Pilgrim spake againe,
Except with me, that ye remaine,
For feir my corps will cule,
Swa feiring, thair for to be left,
He of his senses was bereft,
Besottit like ane fule:
Macrobivs Qyntvs of Corinth,
Quho did descend to hell,
In ane mair troublus Laborinth,
Not intricat him sell:
Nor I now, quhairby now,
Experience teichis plaine,
Intrusit, and vsit,
With pepill maist prophane.

Before I come into this cair,
Perplexitie and gret dispair,
With troubill, stryfe and tene,
Wald I had bene deuord with daith,
Els in the entrels of the earth,
Intombit till haue bene:
Och Atrapvs, quhair is thy knyfe,
Quhy hes thou me misusd,
Into relenting of my life,
Quhilk hes bene so abusd:
Wald God now, the rod now,
Of daith, wald me deuore,
That deing, my being,
Micht heir remaine no more.

Better I neuer had bene borne,
Nor liue in sic a life forlorne,
Byrning in flams of fier,
My dolor daylie aggrauats.
And cairs so me inuironats,
That deith I do desire:
Quhen I relat my lyfe alace,
My watrie eies distels,
Considdring my maist cairfull cace,
All plesours that expels:
O deid now, with speid now,
Cum peirs me with thy dairt,
I griue heir, to liue heir,
Sen ans I must depairt.

Seing na ischew till eschew,
My dolour daylie did renew,
Sic madnes did me moue,
Euin as ane persoun in dispair,
My greif aggregis mair and mair,
Without remorse or roue.
Then I begoud to exclamat,
The Gods into my greif,
And quhyls Apollo imprecat,
To send me sum releif:
Howbeid than, in neid than,
I at thir Gods socht grace,
In vaine zit, my paine zit,
Gat na relief alace.

Apollo had compleit his cure,
And so the clouds wer all obscure,
For Phæbvs cast no licht,
Avrora raise with sanguine hew,
And so Diana bad adew,
The Regent of the nicht:
With this begoud to cleir the skyse,

Amangs the mountains, gret and grim,
I socht this Goddes gay:
Quhair I mont Caucasis did clym,
Quhair snaw remains for ay:
Dispairdly, vncairdly,
I hasert ouer the hill,
Allowing, and trowing,
To haue obteind my will.

Gret wes the hasert, quhilk I tuke,
Gif to the voyage, ye wald luke,
And all the perils pen,
Amang sick monstrous animals,
I mene the cruell canibals,
Quha feids on flesch of men:
Thir barbrus pepill, war nor Moirs,
Thair Iove, dois not extoll,
Bot sum the Dælphin torche adoirs,
And sum the artik poll:
Securely, vnsurely,
Still sleping into syn,
Offending, but mending,
Sick is the race thay ryn.

Than did I dascan with my sell,
Quhidder to heuin or vnto hell,
Thir persouns suld pertene,
Quho na wais hes regard of God,
Bot as wyldbeists, dois ryn abrod,
Delyting into tene:
I in my mynd againe did pance,
How all wes done in sleuth,
In blindnes and in ignorance,
But knawledge of the truth:
Deploring, and soring,
Thair ignorant estaits,
Quhilk marknes, and darknes,

Pairtlie thair deids debaits.

Than iudge, quhat dois to sick belang,
As knawis the richt way be the wrang,
And zit the same forbeirs,
Or can we call thame christians richt,
That seis the glorious glancing licht,
Syne to the mirke reteirs:
Sum are like lyons in effect,
Baith barbarus and rud,
And sum like woluis, without respect,
Seking thair nichbours blud:
Sick men than, ye ken than,
Amangs our selfs we se,
As bregers, and tygers,
Delyts in blud to be.

Ze that your lands delapidats,
And all your actions agitats,
In sick prophane affairs,
Ze Bludsheders and buriours all,

homo homini Lupus

Iust Canibals, men may you call,
As weill your deids declairs:
Thou bluddy man that dois abuse,
Thy glore bot, and thy grace,
Quhat can thou find for thy excuse,
At the tribunall place:
Thy scusis, and rusis,
Sall serue for na effect,
Bot rather, sall further,
Thy knaifre to detect.

Into that terribill conflict,
Sick feirfull pains my hart did prick,
As na man micht abyde,
Thair wandring in the corners cauld,
My Nymph, I na wais culd behauld,

Amangs the mountains wyd:
Feir pat my hart in sick a flocht,
It did me mutch mischeif,
And ay the mair of hir I thocht,
The greter grew my greif:
Quhyls wissing, hir missing,
Out of my mynd to go,
Yit sadnes, and madnes,
Did agrauat my wo.

The mair ye stop the streame within,
With gretter force the flud will ryn,
As I may weill compair,
Sick fantasie on hir I set,
The fainer I wald hir forzet,
Remembrie grew the mair:
O Nymph, quod I, now to me tell,
Quhy hes thou done this deid,
Into absenting of thy sell,
Fra me in gretest neid:
Draw neir me, and heir me,
Pure catife quhair I cry,
Beseiking, with speiking,
Sum answer to reply.

Euin as the fish dois take delyte,
Vpon the fishers bait to byte,
Put thairupon expres,
Euin so perchance, I seik the thing,
Quhilk may redound to my maling,
Distruction and distres:
Quhyls luking comfort to resaue,
Quhyls luking for a skelp,
Quhyls dreiding sche suld me disaue,
Quhyls houping for hir help:
Perplexit, and vexit,
Betwixt hope and dispair,
Quhyls transing, quhyls pansing,

How till eschew the snair.

My spreit supirs and sichs maist sair,
Quhen I rement me euer mair,
How godles men begins,
For till associat thame sels,
With sick as pietie repels,
And dois delyte in sins:
Gif in your counsals, ye conclud,
Far placis for to se,
Ken weill, your company be gud,
So sall ye happy be:
Gret sorrows, and thorrows,
Ill company procuris,
Forese than, with me than,
This troubill that induris.

Incace men wald record in mynd,
Quhat hes bene wrackit and reuynd,
By siclike menis alace,
Or gif thay wald in mynd incall,
The saying Salamonicall,
Concerning sick a cace:
Or zit the danger vnderstud,
Or culd the perrils ken,
Ill company thay wald seclud,
And hant with honest men:
Atend ye, and mend ye,
That loups before ye luke,
In venter, ye enter,
Quhair ye resaue rebuke.

Intill astonishment I stud,
For I na outgait vnderstud,
My mynd wes so resolued,
And in my mynd oftimes did think,
How till elaps, from this precink,

Quhairin I wes inuolued:
Quhyls lipning comfort to consaue,
Quhyls lipning ill alace,
In hart and mynd, ye may persaue,
No sympathy hes place:
Quhylis dowting, quhylis showting,
That sche my voce micht heir,
In haist now, this gaist now,
Before me did apeir.

In monstrus maner, sche come thair,
As Crvsa did, that dame so fair,
Efter sche wes deceist,
The gifts quhilk did hir corps decore,
And forme, quhairin sche wes before,
Is alterd in a beist:
Can this be thou, that stands me by,
Into ane beists estait,
Sche answers me, this same is I,
That gydit thee the gait:
Perhap now, my chap now,
Will make the for to feir,
Bot dreid not, thou neid not,
Na danger sall the deir.

Than did I cry with loud alace,
Quhair is thy fair and fragrant face,
With thy gold glitring hair,
Quhair are thy cumly christall eis,
And corall lips, beneth thy breis,
With bodie debonair:
Thy cumly corps, from end to end,
So clenly wes inclosd,
That Momvs nocht culd discommend,
So weill thou wes composd:
Thy trymnes, and nymnes,
Is turnd to vyld estait,

Thy grace to, and face to,
Is alterd of the lait.

I at this spreit, begoud to speir,
Quhilk in my presence did apeir,
Desiring it to tell,
Gif it that power, had of God,
Quho in his richt hand halds the rod,
Or of the deuill in hell:
The pairt of Prothevs, thou dois play,
Quho quhyli wes changst in myst,
And culd transforme him selfe I say,
In ony schape he list:
Are ye than, as he than,
Declair the truth to me,
Or Tysephon, or Mageron,
Ane of the furies thre.

Or art thou cumd of Phocames,
Or of the monster Odites,
By Mopsis, schot to deid,
Or art thou of Euriplis toun,
Quhair wyfis wairs horns vpon thair croun,
As Oxin on thair heid:
Or dwels thou in the Horison,
Aboue all earthly bounds,
Or in the mount of Cocheron,
Quhair echo ay resounds:
In Achyron, or Flagiton,
Thois twa infernall fluds,
Repairs thou, or fairs thou,
With Diabolyk bruds.

Or come thou from dame Thetis lap,
Quhair stout Achil resau'd his schap,
As ancient Poets pens,
Or com thou from Neptvns feild,

Quhair Titan nichtlie hes his beild,
As common pepill kens:
Quhair Phalemon repairs expres,
The sonne of Ivno Queene,
With auld Colantvs hes exces,
Neptvnvs courtiours kene:
Remane ye, or trane ye,
On see so far of schore,
Or vse ye, or muse ye,
With them reherst before.

Thocht strange this purpos will apeir,
That mortal men demand or speir,
At spreits that be vnclene,
Lat na man maruell in his mynd,
For God that al things hes inclynd,
Permits thir things I mene:
He is the Lord of Sea, and land,
Quha dantons all indeid,
And hes the bridle in his hand,
Quhilk halds them by the heid:
Comanding, thair standing,
Thair actions, and exces,
His richt now, and micht now,
Comands thame more and les.

Nor maruel not, thocht I demand,
The veritie til vnderstand,
Concerning spreits that be,
How sum are hingand in the air,
Sum in the earth and fields so fair,
And sum into the See:
This Royall King of all renoun,
Knawis quhat he hes ado,
For quhen that Lvcifer fell doun,
Thir spreits descendit to:
Thy glore now, the more now,

Is kend ô potent God,
In schawing, and blawing,
Thy potent power abrod.

Concerning spreits, quhairof I spake,
Sum lyis into the Limbo lake,
Perplexit with wo and pane,
Sum lyis belaw, and sum aboue,
This is na paradox I proue,
The mater is maist plane:
O thou gret God, our onlie scheild,
In quhome we do rejose,
Conduct vs to Elisian feild,
Quhair gud spreits dois repose:
That we ay, may be ay,
Conductit be thy grace,
In purenes, and surenes,
In Heuin to haue our place.

FINIS.

BE HONOR I LEVE.