University of Virginia Library

THE PROLOG.

fair vranie, the mychtie muse celest,
Me thocht appirit in my truiblit rest
Maist miscontent, And did me reprehend
for pithles poems to my prence so pend.
“Thy ryms,” (Sayis scho), “ar resonles and ruid,
Syn vith no constant sentence dois concluid.
Quhow dar thow than sic dytment dull derect
To my renownit scholer cheif elect?
Beliwis thow his godlie blissit braine
Vill tak delyt of thy fantastick vaine,
Quhilk hes sic fectles friuolteis don fram
That skairse his grace vill gaȝe vpon the sam?
And gif his hienes ons thy lyns reiect,
Ilk ane about sall giwe the monie gect:
from hand till hand thy minschit metir meed
Than sall be catchit full of fortouns feed,
And all sall say thow hes misspent thy time
In ruid rehersall of ane raggit rym:
So thow thy thanks and trauels both sall tyn,
furthschawing dulnes of thy basse Ingyn.
Bot gif thow haid my heawenlie counsell socht,
Thow sould vnto his maiestie haif brocht
Sum sentence sad compoist in statlie style,
As I haif causit cunnyng men compyle.”
“Helas, Madam,” said I, “my spreit ȝe perse
Vith dolor deip be ȝour extreme reherse.
The onlie cause quhilk meed me to compois
To ȝow Inteirlie sall I now disclois.
Abowe all thingis erdlie being bent
His celcitude synceirlie to content,
I lang reuoluit in my secret thocht
Quhow my desyre mycht till effect be brocht;
Quhilk sen my pouer mycht navayis furthschaw,
I tuik conceit at leist sum lyns to draw
As I best could, that his maist sacred skill
Ȝit mycht consawe ane part of my guidwill.
And this I humylie in my mynd deid meine,
Not for na vordie vark that in me beine,
Bot traisting suir his kinglie courtas hart
My Indeuoir vold tak in to guid part,
As Artaxerces kyndlie did resawe
Handfull of vattir quhilk the puir man gawe,
Or that renownit mychtie thankfull king
The radische ruit quhilk on did till him bring;
for prencelie spreits regards the Inwart thocht
And not the valeur of the present brocht,
So that thair gloir awansit moir dois ring
Be veill accepting of ane sempill thing,
propynit frilie from ane ȝelus hart,
Than gouldin gifts estemd be greattest part:
for he quho of his small thing gifis all
Sould be accompt als vordie liberall
As thay quho of thair great aboundant Stoir
Bestows ane part: So I quho hes no moir
Bot litill leirning hes don it prepair
Vith nales feruent And continewall cair
Than sort of thois quho distributs at vill
King Cresus pois Or queine Mineruas skill:
for I hawe scherst all hirns of my Ingyn
Vith quhat I mycht or could for to propyn
The sam maist humilie to My natiwe king,
In quhom all royall gratitud dois spring.
Quhy do ȝe than, helas, vith reuthles teine
My mynd manase quhilk dois maist meiklie meine?
No vonder thocht I vexit be vith vo,
Sen that ȝour speitche seueirlie schoirs me so.
I soucie litill all my trauels lost,
And cairs no thing for tanting Momus bost,
Bot all my greif is gif my king reiect
My sempill versis to his grace derect;
Quhairin ȝour counsell I haid don desyre,
Var nocht I durst navayis so hich aspyre;
Ȝour curious cunning And my sempill spreit
To correspond me thocht vas navayis meit,
I dark as nycht, And ȝe as tuynkling star
Or phebus brycht Surmonting me als far.
Bot now sen I ȝour glorie great dois sie,
Of pitie spair my pansiwe spreit supplie
for till eschew his maiesteis desdaine,
Quhilk vold perplex me vith profoundest paine.
Ten thowsand tyms I rather burne my buik
Than ons deserwe his miscontentit luik.”
for Iust excuse Quhan I thir vordis spak,
The mychtie Muse than did this ansuir mak:
“Sen thow declairit hes the verray trewth,
I quyt thy mis And of thy cause hes reuth,
Not doutting bot his excellence preclair
Sall na les mercie on thy mateir Spair,
for thow reclams to his maist prencelie Spreit,
Quhilk vill appaise thy hoip in euerie quheit;
To quhois correction giwe thy former buik,
Quhilk be Inspection of his luifing luik
In euerie blob sall beutifeit appeir,
As Tytan fair maks Scinthea Scheine cleir.
And gif thow vold his celcitude content,
Now schers sum sacred Subiect till Inuent
But all delay; Althocht thy Skill be small
God vill the help gif for his grace thow call,
Quhois maikles mycht may mak thy spreit to pas
Aloft abowe the forkit hich pernas.
Go to and scharp than all thy sensis blont,
Contending ons to clym the holie mont.”
Thus I awalkit, And did so pretend
To pleis My Godlie king, Quhom god defend.