University of Virginia Library

“Lo, the ilk tyme, harland onto the kyng
Troiane hyrdis with gret clamour dyd bryng
A ȝong man, baith his handis behynd his bak
Hard bundyn, that wilfully fortobe tak
Rendrit hym self, onknawyn the cawss quhy,
Forto perform his deid mair secretly;
By stowt curage reddy to athir of tway,
Owder tobryng hys slycht to gude assay,
Or faillyng tharof, dowtless reddy to de
Less than to Grekis he oppynnyt the cite.
On ather part hym tobehald atanys
Fast flokkis about a multitude ȝong Troianys,
Byssy to knak and pul the presoneir.
Now the dissait of Grekis may ȝe heir,
And all thar falshed lern by this a slycht,
For, alsso fast in myddis of al our sycht
As that drery onarmyt wyght was stad
And with eyn blent about, semyng ful rad,
Behaldand Troiane rowtis on athir hand,
‘Allace,’ quod he, ‘wald God some erd or sand
Or sum salt sey dyd swelly me alyve!
Quhat other thing now restis to me catyve,
Quhamto sal nevir amang Grekis agane
A place befundyn suythly to remane?
And maratour Troianys, offendyt eik,
To sched my blude by paynful deth dois seik.’
With this regrait our hertis sterit to piete;
All molestatioune cessit and lattyn be,
We hym exort reherss, and tobe bald,
Of quhat lynnage he was, and quhat he wald,
And to remembir gude hope of ferm supple
Happynnys oft to presoneris in captiuite.
He at the last this fenȝeit dreid dyd away
And on this wyss onone begouth to say:
‘Forsuyth, Schir Kyng, I sal quhat euer betyde
Grant to the all the verite and nocht hyde,
Nor, be na ways, me lyst nocht to deny
That of the Grekis menȝe ane am I.
Thys principaly I wald thou vndyrstude:
Thocht frawart fortoun miserabill and bayr of gude
Hass maid Synon, sche sal nocht mak hym als,
Quhat euer he says, nowder lear nor fals.
Gyf euer onto ȝour eris come the name,
The hie wirschip and the renownyt fame
Of Palamedes, from Belus blude discend,
Quham Grekis by fals traysoun, as weil is kend,
Throw corrupt witness stanyt to ded, but less,
For he the weir forbad and procurit pess—
Now murn thai for his dede. And with hym heir
In falloschip my puyr fader in weir
Send me of ȝouth, as to hym neir of blude.
Quhil in prosperite of the realm he stude,
And Grekis ryng by counsale was rewlit wysly,
Sum name of wyrschip and autorite bair I,
Bot efter that by envy and haitrent
Of the fals flechand Vlixes sa quent
(I iape not, for that I say weyll I knaw)
Fra he was slane, allace, and brocht of daw,
Dolorus my lyfe I led in sturt and pane,
Hevyly weyand my innocent frende thus slane.
Sess couth I nocht, bot in my franacy,
Gyf euer I happit my tyme forto espy,
And victour hame returnyt onto Arge,
I hecht tobe revengit; with wordis large
Thus I prouokit scharp feid and malyce baith.
To me this was fyrst apperans of skaith.
From thens fordwart Vlixes mair and mayr
With new crymys begouth affray me sair,
And dangerus rumour amang the commonys hedis
Skalit and sew of me in diuerss stedis,
And, knawyng hym self gylty, by hys consait
Grathit hys wapynnys of slycht and fals dissait,
Nor cessit he neuer his purposs to persew
Quhil the solysting of Calcas I mycht rew . . .
Bot quharto tell I or rehersis this
That be na ways displesis ȝou, I wyss?
Quhy tary I my deth? And ȝe lyst, stryke:
Gyf that ȝe favour all the Grekis elyke,
This is enewch at ȝe haue hard of me—
Now haist my pane, sen algatis I mon de.
Vlixes, quhilk is kyng of Ithacy,
Wald it war swa, and with gret price wald by
My deth Agamenon als, and Menalay.’
Than hastit we and brynt to heir hym say,
Desyrus all the maner forto heir,
Mysknawyng the gret iniquiteis seir
And sle craftis of Grekis in euery deid.
He quakand than, as it had bene for dreid,
Begouth forto tell furth the remanent,
Sayand on this wyss, with ful dissemlyt entent:
‘The Grekis oft in purposs war and will
To fle from Troy and leif it standand still
And, wery of thar lang weir, pass away.
(Wald God swa thai had done syne mony a day!)
The seys rage and storm thame stoppit oft,
And from thar passage the north wynd onsoft
Held thame abak in angwyss and in feir,
And principaly now sen this hors was heir
Of hattyr gestis beldit vp but dowt
The stormy clowdis our al the ayr gan rowt.
We dowtyng heiron send the preste Erypilus
Answer to seik at the tempill of Phebus,
And from the secret oratory, suyth to sayn,
Thir soroful tythyngis he wss brocht agane:
“With blude and by the slauchtir of a maid,
Grekis, ȝe mesyt the wyndis first,” he said,
“Quhen that ȝe come of Troy to the cuntre;
Ȝour haym passage by blude mon fundyn be,
And haue ȝour askyn by deth of a Gregyoun.”
Quhen to the commonys eris ran the sown
Of thir wordis, with myndis affrayit atanys
The cauld dreid ran in throu thar banys
For feir quhamto was schape this destanye
Or quho it was Apollo desyrit to die.
Vlixes than amang thame with gret dyn
Calcas the gret dyvynour has brocht in
And bissely at hym inquiris he,
By respons of the goddis, quha suld de.
Than mony ane demyt to me, ful rycht,
The cruel wraik of that dissaitful slycht
And quyetly persavit how it wald wend.
This Calcas held his tong ten days to end,
Kepand secret and cloyss al his entent,
Refusyng with his word ony to schent
Or to pronunce the deth of ony wyght.
Skars at the last, throu gret clamour and slycht
Of Vlixes constrenyt, but mair abaid,
As was devisit, the laith word furth braid
And me adiudgit to send to the altare.
Tharto alhail the Grekis assentit ar
And sufferit glaidly so the mater pass;
Quhar as tofor eueryane tobasyt was
For hym selwyn, tho blyth was page and knycht
The chance returnyt on a catyfe wyght.
Cummyn was the duylful day that doith me gryss,
Quhen that of me suldbe maid sacryfyce,
With salt meldir, as weil the gyiss is kend,
Abowt my hede a garland or a bend.
I grant that from the deth my self I fred,
The bandis I brast, and fast away syne fled
Ontil a muddy marrass quhar, the dyrk nycht,
Amang the rysp and redis out of sycht
Full law I lurkit, quhil vp salys drew thai,
Gif thai perchance be ȝit passit away.
Now restis thar na hope (allace, fell me!),
My natyve cuntre sal I neuer se,
Nor deir childryng, nor fader weil belovit,
Quham, as I traist, the Grekis, all ammovit
For myne eschaping, turment sal with pane—
Thai, saykles wyghtis, sal for my gilt be slane.
Quharfor, Schir Kyng, be the hie goddis abufe,
And thar mychtis that trewth best knawis and lufe,
And by the faith onfylit and leil lawte
(Gyf it with mortale folkis may fundyn be),
Haue rewth and piete on sa feil harmys smart
And tak compassioune in thi gentill hart;
Apon my wrechit sawle haue sum mercy
That gyltles sufferis sik dyseyss wrangwisly.’”