University of Virginia Library

“Fyrst than the grysly dreid about me start:
Astonyst I wolx, for sone prent in myne hart
The ymage of my deir fader, quhen I
The kyng his evyneild beheld sa cruelly
By deidly wound ȝaldand vp the spreit.
On dessolat Crevse, my spowss sa sweit,
I thocht alsso, and dangeris of my place;
Of litil Ascaneus sayr I dred the cace.
About I blent to behald, heir and thar,
Quha of our feris remanyt with me thar.
Al war thai fled full wery, left me alane;
Sum to the erd loppin from hie towris of stane,
Sum in the fyre thar irkit bodeis leit fall—
Thar was na ma bot I left of thame all;
Quhen in the tempil of Vesta the goddas,
Lurkand ful law intil a secrete place,
Tyndarus douchter, Queyn Helene, I espy—
The fyrys schane sa brycht as I went by
All thing was patent quhar so euer I went.
Scho dreding less the Troianys wald hir schent
And kast sum way for hir distructioun
Becauss al Troy for hir was thus bet doun,
Sayr punytioun of Grekis dred scho, als
Hir husbandis wroth, quham scho left and was fals,
And eik the common fatale fury of Troy,
Hir self scho hyd tharfor and held ful koy,
Besyde the altare sytting onethis seyn.
My spreit for ire brynt in propir teyn
And al in greif thocht cruel vengeans take
Of my cuntre for this myschews wrake,
With byttir panys to wreke our harmys smart.
Thocht I, sal scho pass to the realm of Spart
Hailskarth, and se Mycene hir natyve land,
And with triumphe follow hir fyrst husband?
Or lyke a queyn sal scho wend hame our see?
Hir frendis agane and childring sal scho se
Accumpanyit with mony Troiane maid
And Phrygiane seruandis in bondage with hir had—
Sen now by hir with swerd lyis Priam ded
And ryal Troy all brynt in flambis red,
Of Dardane eik the strandis and the flude
Sa oft hass bene waterit or bathit in blude?
Na, na, nocht swa, I wyss, that sal scho nocht;
And set it be nocht lovabill nor semly thocht
To punyss a woman, bot schameful hir to sla,
Na victory, bot lak, followyng alswa,
Ȝit netheless I aucht lovit tobe
Vengeans to tak on hir deservis to de.
It wil my mynd asswage fortobe wrokyn
On hir quhamby Troy brynt is and down brokyn,
And forto eik the myscheif of hir ded
Til our sorowis fyllit with assis red.
Syk thingis I thocht half wod and furyus
As owt of wit my mynd was cachit thus,
Quhen that my blissit moder, of sik bewte,
Apperit farer than euer I dyd hir se,
Schynyng ful cleir for al the dyrk nycht,
Confessyng hir tobe a goddess brycht
In sik form of quantite and estait
As scho is seyn with spretis deificait.
Me by the rycht hand hynt scho and held fast
And with hir rosy lippis thus said at last:
‘Son, quha sa gret and furyus cruelte
And hie ondantit ire has rasyt in the?
Quhy gois thou mad? Quhidder is went thus onkynd
Our ramembrance, or we forȝet of mynd?
Suld thou not first think quhar thou left but less
Thi wery fader, the agit Anchises?
Wenys thou or not Crevsa ȝit levand be
And Ascanyus thi ȝong son, quam al thre
The Grekis armyis walkis rownd about,
And bot my myght rasistit thame, sans dout
Thai hadbene brynt or this in flambis red,
And with thar fays swordis smyte to ded.
Not the bewte of Helene Laconya,
Quham thou hatis, nor Parys, quhilk alswa
Is blamyt oft, this rychess has ȝou reft;
Bot the wroth of the goddis has down beft
The city of Troy from top onto the grond.
Behald (for I, within a litil stound,
The clowd of dyrkness from thi sycht so cleir,
That on ȝour mortell eyn, quhill ȝe beyn heir,
Lyke to ane watry slowch standis dym about;
Thi moderis heist on na wyss nedis the dowt,
Na hir command refusyng to obey)
Quhar thir towris thou seys down fall and swey,
And stane fra stane down bet, and reyk vp ryss,
With stew, powder and duste myxt on this wyss,
Neptune the fundmentis of thir wallis hie,
With his gret mattok havand granys thre,
Vndermyndis rownd about the towne,
Furth of the grond holkand the barmkyn doun.
Maist cruel Iuno hass, or this, alsswa
Saysit with the fyrst the port clepit Sceya,
And from the schippis the ostis in scho callis,
Standing wod wraith enarmyt on the wallis.
The hie castellis and strenthis to and fra,
Behald, now Pallas of Tritonya
All occupyis, schynyng in weirlyke weid,
Fell Gorgones hed into hir scheild, tak heid.
The gret fader Iupiter strenth and mycht
Distributis happely to the Grekis in fyght,
And eik the goddis ire prouokis he
Aganys Troianys power in the melle.
Fle thou, my son, in haist away thou wend,
And of this laubour onprofitabil mak ane end;
I salbe with the soverly and ful koy,
Quhil to thi faderis ȝet I the convoy.’
Thus sayand, scho hir hyd in the cloyss nycht.
Than terribil figuris apperis to my sycht
Of gret goddis, semand with Troy agrevit;
And tho beheld I al the cite myschevit,
Fayr Illion all fall in gledis down,
And, fra the soyll, gret Troy, Neptunus town,
Ourtumlyt to the grond—so as ȝhe se
The lauboreris into the montanys hie
With steil axsis byssely hak and hew
A mekil ayk that mony ȝeir thar grew;
The tre branglis bostyng to the fall,
With top trymlyng, and branchis schakand all;
Quhil finaly it get the lattyr straik,
Than with a rair down duschis the mekil aik,
And with his fard brekis down bewis about.
Furth of that sted I went, and throu the rowt
Of ennemyis and flambis I me sped
(The fyre and wapynnys gave me place) and fled.
So happely the goddes gydit me,
Quhil that within the portis and entre
Of my faderis lugyng am I cummyn;
My fader than, quham I schupe to haue nummyn
And caryit to the nerrest hillys hycht,
And hym tharto solist with al my mycht;
Bot he reffusys or euer to leif in ioy
Eftir the rewyne and distructioun of Troy—
To suffir exile he said that he ne couth.
‘O ȝe,’ quod he, ‘in blude and florist ȝouth
That has ȝour strenth ȝit and ȝour forcy mycht,
Pass on ȝour way onone, and tak the flycht.
Gif goddis lykyt lenth my life langar space,
Thai wald haue salwyt to me this litil place.
It is eneuch, eneuch and mair, I weyn,
A distructioun of Troy that we haue seyn,
Remanyng alyve eftyr the cite tane.
So, so, hald on, leif this ded body alane;
Say the last quething word, adew, to me.
I sal my deth purchess thus,’ quod he:
‘Quhen our ennemyss seys me enarmyt stand,
Sum sal haue reuth and sla me with his brand
To get my spulȝe—quhat of the body na cure:
The corps is sone warpit in sepulture.
Hatit of the goddis, to all nedis onhabill,
Thir mony ȝeris I left inprofitabill,
Ay sen the fader of goddis and kyng of men
With thunderis blast me smate, as that ȝe ken,
And with his fyry levin me omberauch,
That we intill our langage clepe fyreflauch.’
Rehersyng this, fermly he dyd remane
At his first purpos fixt, and we agane
Furthȝetting teris, and our spowss Crevsa,
Ascanyus ȝyng, and al our menȝe alswa
Besowth my fader to salue his wery banys,
And not be wilful to peryss all atanys,
And to escheif the chance as it was went:
Plat he reffusys, anherdyng to his entynt,
The fyrst sentence haldyng euer ane.
To start to harnes I am compeld agane,
And, as maste wrachit and miserabil catyve,
Ded I desyrit, and irkyt of my lyve;
For by na wysdome nor chance persave I mycht
We couth eschape, nor ȝit by forss in fyght.
‘O deir fader, quhat wenys thou for ded,
A fut,’ quod I, ‘me to steir of this sted,
And leif the heir? O God! quha euer couth
Sik cryme to me be said of faderis mouth!
Bot gif it lykis to the goddis hie
Na thing be left of sa fayr a cite,
Or gyf thou hest in mynd decretit eik,
And weil lykis thi self and thine to eik
Onto the rewyne of Troy, and tobe schent,
Ded at our dur is reddy and patent.
From mekil blude schedding of Priamus
Hiddir, belyfe, sal cum cruell Pyrrus,
Quhilk brytnys the son befor the faderis face,
And gorris the fader at the altare but grace.
Is this the way, my haly moder, at thou
Suld kepe me, fays and fyris passand throu,
That I behald, within my chawmyr secrete,
Myne ennemyss, and se Ascanyus swete,
My deir fader, and Crevsa my wyfe,
Ahtir in otheris hait blude leyss thar lyfe?
Harness, seruandis, harnes bryng hydder sone!
The lattyr end, thus venquyst and ondone,
Callys ws agane to batale and assay;
Adone, cum on, this is our lattir day.
Rendir me to the Grekis, or suffir me
The bargane agane begun at I may se;
This day onwrokyn we sal neuer all be slane.’
Abowt me than my swerd I belt agane,
And schot my left arme in my scheild al meit,
Bownyng me furth, quhen lo, abowt my feit
My spowss lappit fell down into the ȝet,
And litill Iulus forgane his fader vpset:
‘Gyf thou lyst pass,’ quod scho, ‘thi self to spill,
Harl ws with the in all perrell quhar thou will;
Bot gif thou trastis, as expert in thi dedis,
Ony help by forss of armys, than the nedis
First to defend and kepe this howss,’ quod scho,
‘Quharin thi ȝong son and thi fader beyn, lo!
And I vmquhile that salbe clepit thi spowss;
Quham to sall we be left in this waist howss?’”