University of Virginia Library

In the meyn tyme the Rutilianys ichone
The gret ded corps reuthfull and wobegone
Of thar duke Turnus slayn, as said is air,
Within the cite of Lawrentum bair
With mekill murnyng in thar myndis enprent,
And from thar eyn a large schour furth sent
Of teris gret, as thocht the hevyn dyd rayn,
And far on breid dyd fyll the erys twayn
Of Kyng Latyn with cry and womentyng,
That all to irkyt was the nobill kyng,
And in his breist the self tyme in ballance
Was rollyng mony diuerss selcouth chance.
Bot quhen he hard thar lowd womentyng
Incressyng mair and mair, and Turnus ȝyng
With sa grysly a wond throw gyrd hess seyn,
Than mycht he nocht fra terys hym conteyn;
And syne this rowt, sa tryst and wobegone,
Full curtesly chargis be still onon,
Baith with hys hand and wordis in his presens
Inionyt hass and commandit thame silens.
Lyke as quhen that the fomy bair hess bet
With his thunderand awfull tuskis gret
Throw owt the cost and eik the entralis all
Ane of the rowt, the hund maste principall;
Than the remanent of that questing sort,
For this onsilly chance effrait, at schort
Withdrawys, and abowt the master hunteir
With quhyngeand mouthis quakand standis for feir
And with gret ȝowlyng doith compleyn and meyn;
Bot quhen thar lord rasys hys hand bedeyn
And byddys cess, thai hald thar mowthis still,
Thar quhyngng and thar questyng at his will
Refrenys, and all closs gan thame withhald—
The sammyn wyss thir Rutilianys, as he wald,
Gan at command debait thar voce and cess,
To heir the kyngis mynd, and held thar pess.
Than thus, wepyng, from hys hart ruyt waill law
The kyng Latyn begouth thir wordis schaw:
“O quhou gret motioun, quhat alteryng onstabill,
Quhou oftsyss interchangit and variabill
Beyn the actis and dedis of man!” quod he,
“With quhou gret trubbill, but tranquylyte,
Is quhirlit abowt the lyfe of man, behald!
O dampnabill pryde and ambitioun, that wald
Bruke crovn or ceptre, prowd in thyne entent,
Quhilk beyn sa fragyll, and not permanent!
O fury, O lust, that beyn our gretumly
Bred in our brestis, to covat senȝeory!
Thou blynd desyre insaciabill, may not tary,
Our mortal myndis quhidder doith thou cary?
O glory and renoun of loyss, invayn
Conquest with sa feill perrellis and huge pane,
To quhat conditioun or to quhat estait
Thou sterys furth thir prowd myndis inflait!
Quhou mony slichtis and dissatis quent
With the thou tursis, quhou mony ways to schent,
Quhcu feill maneris of deth and of distress,
Quhou feill tormentis, gret harm and wikkytnes!
Quhou mony dartis, quhou feill swerdis keyn,
Gyf thou beheld, thou hess befor thyne eyn!
Allace, thou sweit vennom schawis, and ȝit
This warldly wirschip hess the dedly byt.
Allace, the sorofull reward in all thyng
Of realmys, and thame covatis forto ryng,
Quhilk costis oft na litill thing, but weir.
Allace, the hevy byrdyng of warldly geir,
That nevir hour may suffir nor permyt
Thar possessour in rest nor peax to syt.
Allace, the miserabill chance and hard estait
Of kyngly honour sa mysfortunate:
The chance of kyngis standis onderlowt,
To mekill dreid ay subiect, and in dowt
From thar estait to dekey suddanly,
That all quyet and eyss is thame deny.
O Turnus, quhat avalit the to steir
In huge bargan so and feir of weir
All Italy with sik deray atanys,
And to perturbe the strangis Eneadanys,
Constrenyng thame hard batal to assay?
Or quhat avalis now, I pray the say,
Fortill haue brokkyn, violate or schent
The haly promyss and the bandis gent
Of peax and concord oblisit and sworn?
Quhou was thi mynd to rent and all to torn
With samekill impaciens on this wyss,
That the lyst move the weir, but myne avyss,
With tha pepill, sa strang, bald and sage,
That beyn discendit of the goddys lynnage,
And at command of Iove the god of thundir
Ar hyddir careit? and forto mak sic blundir,
That wilfully, but motyve, so belyve
Enforsyt the thame from our cost to dryve?
And forto brek the band that promyst we
Of our douchtir till our gude son Ene?
And with thy hand hard bargan rayss and steir,
Quhen I planely denyit to move weir?
Quhou was sa gret foly and dotage
Involuyt in thy mynd with fury rage?
Quhou oft, quhen thou to awfull batale wend
Amyd thy rowtis, and on thy steid ascend
In schynand armour arrayt all at rycht,
I assayt the to withdraw from fycht,
And feill tymys defendit the and forbad
To go the way that thou begunnyn had,
And all efferit, quhen thou wald depart,
Amyd the ȝet the stoppit with sair hart!
Bot all for nocht; no thyng mycht styntyng the.
Quhat I haue sufferit sen syne, quhou standis with me,
Our cyte wallys wytnessyng fut het,
With tenementis and biggyngis half doun bet,
And the large feldis strowit quhite of banys,
And haill the pissans of Italianys
All wastit and distroyit thus, allake!
The huge slauchtir and myschews wrake,
And all the fludis walxyn red or brovn
Of mannys quelling gret and occisioun,
The lang abasit quakyng feirfull dreid
And hard laubour, quhilk in extreme neid
I in myne age sa oft hess ondertane,
In sa feill dangeris quhar remed was nane.
Bot now, Turnus, heir thou lyggis ded:
Quhar is the nobill renovn of thy ȝouthed?
And quhar is thyne excellent hie curage?
Quhiddir is went thy strenth and vassallage?
Quhar is the staitly bewty of thy face?
Quhar is thy schynand figur now, allace?
Of thy fair vissage quhidder ar gone but weir
Thy plesand forret schaply and eyn cleir?
Ha, quhou feill terys and wofull dolouris smart
Sall thou, Turnus, rendir to Dawnus hart!
And with quhou large wepyng, duyll and wa
Ourfleit sal all the cite of Ardea!
Bot thai sal nocht behald the with sik lak
Througyrd with schamefull wond caucht in thi bak,
Ne noyt the of na cowardyss in thar mynd,
Nor that thou was degenerit owt of kynd,
And to thy wofull fader, will of red,
At lest this salbe solace of thy ded,
All thocht thy harmys doith hym soir smart,
That gret Eneas swerd hess persyt thy hart.”
And sayand thus, with terys of piete
Hys chekis baith and face ourchargit he:
Syne, turnand hym towart the mekill rowt,
The reuthfull corps of this ilk Turnus stowt
Bad turss away and cary furth onon
Ontill hys faderis cite wobygon,
And commandit to do the body cald
All funerall pomp, eftir the vsage ald.