CHAPTER LXIII.
How Hannaball wes wincust sone
Efter with þe bondis of Rome.
Twa hundreth ȝeris and twiss thre
Befor Cristis Natiuite,
Hannaball, with mekle boste,
Off Chawmpane gaderit all his oste,
And thre mylis vtouth the tovne he baid.
Forthi the Romanis murnyng maid,
And all the senatouris ilkane
Sa with raddour were ourtane,
And out of hope disparit quyte
That thai but press were discomfite;
Na were the wiffis at thare wes
That on wallis with besynes,
Berand stanis heire and thare,
Quhare þaim thocht mast neid ware,
It to defend in to that weire,
Efter as thai saw mystere.
And Hannaball with his oste syne
Come till the ȝet callit Port Latyne,
And thare the counsall callit Falus
Saw þat he wes cummyng þus,
Gaderit all the Romanis haill
For till haue gevin þaim thare batall;
And as thai suld haif samyn met
Togidder forouth þat ilk ȝet,
Sa gret tempest and hailstanis wycht
Fell thare with sic forse and pyth
That baith þe ostis sped þaim thare,
Till thai within thare tentis ware,
And baid þare till þe tempest left;
And thocht for till haif semblit eft
Wpone þe morne, and thai had sone
The wethere worthing brycht and schone;
Bot haill and tempest woxe þan ware
And growysar about be fare
Than it wes apon þe first day,
And with mare dout þan withdrew thai.
And þan Hannaball be þat weill thocht
That he be man wes lettyne nocht
To waist and vndo þe cete,
Bot throu þe mycht of Goddis powste.
Fra Rome þan he remuffit haill
His oste, but maire baid or batall,
Bot ȝit throu pouerall of þat tovne
He wes put syne to confusioun,
For all his pryde and all his mycht,
As the cornikillis tharof tellis rycht.
Scipio þat tyme Affricane
Had sevin and sevinty winter gane
Off his eild, and ȝit þan he
Wes prisit man of gret pouste;
He passit in to Spayne of weire,
Cartage wes þan of his powere
That he had wonnyng, and tresour
That thai had gaderit lang befor,
As siluer and gold, and þare for he
Payit till his knychtis large fe;
And thare he tuke Macgovne þe stout,
Broþer till Hanniball but dout,
And to the Romanis him send he
In presone for till haldin be.
Quhen Scipio apon this wiss
Had done in Spayne gret victoryse,
In till Affrik syne he past,
And fell in fechting þare sa fast
That of his aduersaris in to that sted
Fourty thousand wes slane and deid.
He throu the land in ryot raid
An in till it his mastry maid,
That nane fra him þaim mycht defend.
Than thai of Cartage gert sone send
Till Hannaball, and bad him speid
Him hame and help þaim in þat neid;
For he in Ytaly wes werrayand
That samyn tyme with stalwart hand.
One greting þan fell Hanniball,
For him behuffit leif Ytaly all;
And all the knychtis at thare was
Off Ytaly, and wald nocht pass
With him in Affrik, but remeid
He slew and gert be put to deid;
Syne to Cartage in hy he come,
And þare quhen he saw Scipione
To trete for pese he set his thocht;
Bot sa it fell thai cordit nocht,
And sa behuffit þaim o neid
To fecht and þaim to batall speid,
And efter lang fechting thare
Thai of Cartage vencust ware,
And Hanniball bot with foure men,
But ma, on horss eschapit þen,
And fra that batall gat away;
His lif sa savit he that day.
Thus Scipione had the victory,
And with his oste syne halely
[Wan] of Cartage the cete,
And maid as his awne fre.
