University of Virginia Library

The fers mude of Turnus, this bald syre,
At sik sawys kyndillyt hait as fyre,
Sychand rycht sor deip in hys breist onon,
Thir wordis pronuncis with a petuus grone:
“Drances,” said he, “forsuyth euer hess thou beyn
Large and to mekill of spech, as weil is seyn
Now, quhen the batale desyris wark at hand;
The consale syttand, first thou doys vpstand.
Bot not with wordis suld the cowrt be fillyt,
Set thou be gret tharin and ful evill willyt,
With haltand wordis fleand from the heir,
Quhen thou assouerit art of al danger,
Sa lang as that our strenthty wallys gude
Our ennemys debarrit doith exclude
Or quhil the fowceis of our forteress
Rynnys not our of bludy spait, I gess.
Tharfor trump vp, blaw forth thyne eloquens,
As thou was wont to do, mak thy defens:
Bot than thou may, Drances, be myne avice,
Me to reproch of feir and cowardyce,
Quhen that thi rycht hand into batale sted
Samony hepis of Troianys hes laid ded,
And quhen thou takynnyt hess so worthely
With syng tropheall the feildis, as haue I.
Full eith it is fortill assay, and se
Quhat may our sprety fors in the melle;
And, as full weill is knawyn to ws eik,
Our fais beyn not far from hens to seik,
Bot plant about the wallis of our town:
Aganyst thame go mak ws reddy bown.
Quhy duellys thou and tareis thus al day?
Quhidder gif thy marcial dedis, as thai war ay,
Into thy wyndy clattrand tung salbe,
And in tha cowart feit, euer wont to fle?
Says thou I was repulsyt and dryve away?
O maist onworthy wight, quha can that say,
Or me iustly reprochyng of syk lak,
That I rebutyt was or dung abak,
By me quhen thou behald mycht Tyber flude
Boldyn and ryn on spait with Troian blude,
And all the famyll of Evander kyng
Brocht onto grond alhail and his ofspryng,
And the Archadis, confundyt and ourset,
With mony ma in armys I doun bet?
The grysly Bytias, and Pandarus his brother,
Thai ar expert gif I fled one or other,
And eik thai thousand sawlys on a day
As victor I to hell send hyne away,
Quhen that I was inclusyt at distress
Amyd myne ennemyss wallis and forteress.
Thou says, in weir na hoip is of weilfar:
O wytless wyght, pronunce that, and declar
Sik chance betyd ȝon Dardan capitane,
And spa sik thyng onto thy dedis ilkane!
And forthir eik, sen thou art mad becum,
Cess not forto perturbill all and sum,
And with thy felloun raddour thame to fley;
The febill myghtis of ȝon pepill fey,
Into batale twyss venquyst schamefully,
Spar not fortill extoll and magnyfy;
And, by the contrar, the pissans of Latyn kyng
Do set at nocht, bot lychtly, and down thryng.
Now the nobill Myrmydon capitanys
Quakis in armys for feir of the Troianys,
And now Tedeus son Diomedes
Agast is, and Larissyane Achilles;
And Aufidus, the swyft flowand ryver,
Rynnys contyrmont frawart the sey for feir.
And quhill alsso this ilk schrewit wight,
That is controvar of mony wykkyt slycht,
Fenȝeis hym fleyt or abasyt tobe,
That he dar not chide furth incontrar me,
Than with hys dreid and sle controvit feir
My cryme aggregis he on hys maner.
Desist, Drances, be not abasyt, I pray,
For thou sal neuer loss, schortly I the say,
By my wapyn nor this rycht hand of myne,
Sik ane pevych and catyve saule as thyne:
Nay, lat it duell with the, as best may gane,
Within that wrachit corps, and thar remane.
Now, O thou gret fader and prynce souerane,
To the and thy consale I turn agane.
Gyf thou list no thyng trasting nor affy
Into our armys nor our chevalry,
Gyf that we be of help all desolate,
And haill at vnder into this last debait,
Distroyt for ay, and na help may mak,
For that our ost was anys drevyn abak,
And forton hess na return ne regress;
Lat ws beseik for paix at sik distress,
Mak hym request to rew apon our harmys,
And reke hym furth our ryght hand bair of armys.
Quhou beit, O, wald God in this extreme neid
That ony thyng of curage or manheid
Remanyt, as was wont with ws tobe!
Abufe the laif thame worthy thinkis me,
Maist fortunat in fatys marcyall,
And excellent in hie curage our all,
Quhilk wilfully, as that thame selvyn wald,
At thai ne suldyn sik myscheif behald,
Fell ded to grond by fatale happy werd,
And with thar mowth anys bait the erd.
Bot gif we haue rychess and moblys seir,
And nevir assayt ȝit fresch ȝong power,
And, in our helpyng, of Italianys
Citeis and pepillys habundis and remanys,
Or gif that also to the Troiane syde,
With effusioun of blude and wondis wyde,
This victory betyd is (trastis me,
Thai haue als feill ded corpsis as haue we,
Gyf this tempestuus trake of the batale
On baith the halfis is all owt equale),
Quhy failȝe we so schaymfully our mycht
Into the first entre of the fycht?
Quhy quakis thus our membris vp and dovn,
Befor the bludy blast and trumpis sovn?
For tyme, feill syss, and eik the variant chance
Of our onstabill lyfe hung in ballance,
Reducit hess full mony onlykly thyng
To bettir fyne than was thar begynnyng;
And fortoun interchangabill with blenkis quent
Full mony ane dissauyt hess and schent,
Syne efter in a thraw, this weill I wait,
Restoryt thame agane to thar ferm stait.
I put the cace, set the Etholianys,
With Dyomed and the pepill Arpanys,
Lyst not cum in our helpyng nor suple;
Ȝit than the bald Mesapus weill wylbe,
And the happy Tolumnyus alsso,
With all tha other dukis mony mo
That fra so feill pepillys beyn hydder sent:
And na litill renown, be myne entent,
Followys the chosyn folkis of Italy,
Nor thame that duellis in Lawrent feildis heirby.
Haue we not eik the stalwart Camylla,
Of the famyll and kynrent of Volsca,
Ledand thir armyt ostis and stern feildis,
In byrnyst plait arrayt and schynand scheldis?
Bot gyf the Troiane pepill, euery ane,
Desyris me to feght in feild allane,
Gif that be plesand onto the, schir kyng,
And I sa far, efter Drances menyng,
Gaynstandis the common weill; into that cace,
That schame sal nevir betyd me in na place,
For victory me hatis not, dar I say,
Nor lyst syk wyss withdraw thir handis twa,
That I refuss suld to assay ony thyng
Quhilk mycht sa gret beleif of weil inbryng.
With stowt curage agane hym wend I will,
Thocht he in prowes pass the gret Achill,
Or set in cace sik armour he weris as he,
Wrocht by the handis of God Vlcanus sle.
To ȝou, and Kyng Latyn my fader in law,
I Turnus heir, quham full weill ȝe knaw
No thyng behynd, nor tobe reput less,
To nane of all our eldris in prowes,
This saul and life, the quhilk sa weil I lufe,
Doith promyss and awowis for ȝour behufe.
Thai say, allon me challancis Ene;
And I beseik gret God he challance me:
Ne byd I not that Drances deir aby
Ocht with hys deth, quhar that apposit am I;
Nor, quhidder this turn to goddis wrethfull wraik,
Or hardyment and honour, we ondertake,
Na thing at all tharof salbe his part—
The chans is myne, I will it not astart.”