University of Virginia Library

This cruel monstre, Alecto, onane
Infect with feil vennom Gorgonyane,
Socht first to Latyum, and the chymmys hee
Of Lawrentyn, the kyngis cheif cite,
And prevely begouth awach and lowr
About his spouss Quene Amatais bour,
Quhilk, all inflambit in ire and wifely thochtis
Of this new come of Troianys, all on flocht is,
The bissy curis of Turnus mariage
Skaldyng hir breist and mynd half in a rage.
Thys wikkyt goddes towart hir alsfast
Ane of hir slymy serpent haris dyd cast,
Deip in hir bosum leyt inslip with slycht,
Amyd hir hart pipis or precordialis lycht,
That be this ilk monstris instigatioun
Wod wraith scho suld perturble al the toun.
Thys eddir, slyding owr slekit bodeis soft
Of thir ladeis, amang thar wedis oft
Went thrawin so that nane felt quhar scho glidis,
The furyus queyn dissauyng on athir sydis,
And in hir mynd can blaw and kyndill syne
Ane felloun greif or curage serpentyne.
The grysly serpent sum tyme semyt tobe
About hir halss a lynkit gold chenȝe;
And sum tyme of hir curche, lap with a waif,
Becum the selvage or bordour of hir quafe,
Sum tyme hir hed layss, forto knyt hir hair—
Ful slyde scho slippis hir membris our alquhar.
Sone as the first infectioun a litil we
Of slymy vennom inȝet quently had sche,
Than scho begouth hir wittis to assale,
And depe amyd hir banys forto skaill
And multiply the rage or byrnand fury;
For ȝit nocht all our hyr breist cruelly
The spreit hes felt the flambe frenettical.
Quharfor the mar sobirly furth with all,
Eftir the common custum and vsage
Of ald matronys in thar wyld dotage,
With huge complaynt for hir dochter and regrate,
And Troiane wedlok contrar hir consate,
Thus said scho weping, and that ful petuusly:
“O fader Kyng Latyn, quhy wilt thou, quhy?
Quhat, sal our child, Lavynya the may,
To banyst men be geif to leid away?
Nowdir hess thou of thy tendir get piete,
Ne ȝit compassioun of thy self, ne me
Hir moder, quham sa sone, ful dissolate,
Ȝone falss sey revar wil leif in sturt, God wayt,
And cary the maid our the deip fludis haw,
Alssone as evir the first north wynd dois blaw?
Was it nocht evin be sik a fenȝeit gyrd
Quhen Parys furth of Phryge, the Troiane hyrd,
Socht to the cite Laces in Sparta,
And thar the dochter of Lydea stal awa,
The fair Helyn, and to Troy tursyt raith?
Quhat sal avale ȝour faith and hallowit aith?
Quhat of ȝour ancyent purvyance, schire kyng,
That ȝe had of ȝour frendis and ofspring?
Quhat of ȝour richt hand, hald sa gloryus,
Sa feil syth gevin to our cousyng Turnus?
Gyf that thou sekis ane alienar onknaw
Tobe thy mawch or thy gud son in law,
And hes that thing determyt in thy hed,
Constrenyt tharto by the command and red
Of thy fader Fawnus, as to that gate
Heir a litil my fantasy and consate.
All cuntre onsubieckit vnder our wand,
It may be clepit ane oncouth strange land,
And al at thar indwellis alienaris bene;
Of sik strangeris the goddis spak, I weyn.
And gyf we list seik forthirmar, ȝit than
To compt the first begynnyng of Turnus clan,
Inachus and Achrysyus, but weir,
Twa kyngis of Grece, his forfaderis wer;
Thus is he Greik, to compt his greis a pece,
And cum of Myce the myddil realm of Grece.”
Eftir at the quene with sik wordis, all for nocht,
Assayt had Kyng Latyn, as scho nocht,
And fand at he resistit hyr entent,
The furyus poyson than of the serpent
Deip in hir breist and entralis swiftly ȝeid,
And dyd our all partis of hir body spreid,
So that, forsuyth, catchit onhappely
With hydduus monstreis, gan scho ryn and cry
Throw owt the large cite in wild dotage,
But resson, strikkin with the nymphis rage.
As sum tyme sclentys the round tap of tre,
Hyt with the twynyt quhip dois quhirl, we se,
Quham childyr dryvis bissy at thar play
Abowt the closs and voyd hallis all day,
Scho smyttyn with the tawys dois rebound,
And rynnys about, abowt, in cirkill round:
The wytless sort of forsaid babbys ȝyng
Studeis awondrit of sa nyce a thing,
This turnyt tre so all that berdless rowt
Ferleis to se swa sleip and quhirl abowt,
And all thar mynd settis it to cach and dryve—
Na slawar went Amata, the kyngis wife,
Throw owt the myd citeis of Latyn land,
And throu the ferss pepill, fra hand to hand.
And forthir eik, onto the woddis grene
With swyft fard catchys furth this quene,
Fenȝeand the rage of Bacchus, and gret mycht,
A mar myschefe forto controve and slycht,
And grettar fury swyth scho can begyn;
Hyr douchter hyd thir woddy hillys within,
Tharby the Troiane spousage to delay,
Stop and prolong thar fest and brydell day.
Scho schowtis, “Hey how! Bacchus, god of wyne,
Thow only art worthy to haue our virgyne,”
And this with lovd voce cryis and schowtis sche.
To the, Bacchus, scho rasyt eik on hie
Gret lang speris, as thai standartis wer,
With wyne tre branchis wippit on thar maner;
To the scho led ryng sangis in caralyng,
To the hir hair addressit leit down hyng.
The fame heirof wyde our all dyd spreid,
Quhill at the last the sammyn fury can spreid
In all the matronys brestis of the land:
Catchit with forss tha flok fra hand to hand,
Thar howsis thai forhow and levis waist,
And to the woddis socht as thai war chaist,
And leit thar nekkis and hayr blaw with the wynd;
Sum othiris went ȝelland vnder the lynd,
Quhill all the skyis of thar scryke fordynnys;
And sum, war cled in pylchis of fowne skynnys,
Into thar handis rasyt vp on hie
The lang stowris, wond with the sweit wyne tre.
Amyd thame all the queyn Amata gais,
And fersly dyd a byrnand fyrrtre rayss,
And of hir douchter eik and of Turnus ȝyng
The wedding sangis and ballettis dyd scho syng,
With bludy eyn rollyng full thrawynly.
Oft and rycht schrewitly wald scho clepe and cry:
“Owt harro! matronys, quharso evir ȝe be,
All Latyn wyfis harkis now to me:
Gif ony favouris or frendschip ȝit remanys
In ȝour devote brestis, amangis thir planys,
Of the onhappy mother Amata,
Gif ony thocht remordis ȝour myndis alssua
Of the effectuus piete maternall,
Lowss hed bandis, schake down ȝour haris all,
Walk in this wod heir caraland with me,
Syng Bacchus sangis, sen na bettir may be.”