Virgil's Aeneid translated into Scottish verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Wyth bemys scheyn thou bricht Cytherea,
Quhilk only schaddowist amang starris lyte,
And thi blyndyt weyngit son Cupyd, ȝe twa
Fosteraris of byrnyng carnail, hait delyte,
Ȝour ioly wo neidlyngis most I endyte,
Begynnyng with a fenȝeit faynt plesance,
Continewit in lust, and endyt with pennance.

In fragil flesch ȝour fykkil seyd is saw,
Rutyt in delyte, welth and fude delicate,
Nurist with sleuth and mony onsemly saw;
Quhar schame is lost, thar spredis ȝour burgeonys hait;
Oft to revolue ane onleful consait
Rypys ȝour peralus frutis and oncorn:
Of wikkyt grayn quhou sal gude schaif beschorn?

Quhat is ȝour forss bot feblyng of the strenth?
Ȝour curyus thochtis quhat but musardry?
Ȝour fremmyt glaidnes lestis not ane howris lenth;
Ȝour sport for schame ȝe dar not specify;
Ȝour frute is bot onfructuus fantasy;
Ȝour sary ioys beyn bot ianglyng and iapys,
And ȝour trew seruandis sylly goddis apys.

Ȝour sweit myrthis ar mixt with byttyrness;
Quhat is ȝour drery gemme? a myrry pane;
Ȝour wark onthrift, ȝour quyet is restles,
Ȝour lust lykyng in langour to remane,
Frendschip turment, ȝour traist is bot a trane.
O luf, quhiddir art thou ioy or fulychness,
That makis folk sa glaid of thar distress?

148

Salomonys wyt, Sampson thou rubbist hys forss,
And Dauid thou byreft hys prophecy;
Men says thou brydillyt Aristotyll as ane horss,
And crelyt vp the flour of poetry.
Quhat sal I of thi myghtis notyfy?
Fair weil, quhar that thy lusty dart assalis,
Wyt, strenth, ryches, na thyng bot grace avalis.

Thou cheyn of luf, ha benedicite,
Quhou hard strenys thi bandis euery wyght!
The God abuf, from his hie maieste,
With the ybond, law in a maid dyd lycht:
Thou venquyst the strang gyant of gret mycht;
Thou art mair forcy than the ded sa fell;
Thou plenyst paradyce and thou heryit hell.

Thou makist febill wight and lawyst the hie;
Thou knyttis frendschyp quhar thar beyn na parage;
Thou Ionathas confederat with Davy,
Thou dantyt Alexander for al his vassalage,
Thou festnyt Iacob fourteyn ȝheir in bondage,
Thou techit Hercules go lern to spyn,
Reke Dyomeir hys mayss and lyoun skyn.

For luf Narsysus perysyt at the well,
For luf thou stervyst most douchty Achill;
Thesyus, for luf, hys fallow socht to hell;
The snaw quhyte dow oft to the gray maik will.
Allace! for luf how mony thame self dyd spill!
Thy fury, luf, moderis taucht, for dispyte,
Fyle handis in blude of thar ȝong chyldering lyte.

O Lord, quhat writis myne author of thi forss
In hys Georgikis, quhou thyne ondantyt myght
Constrenys so sum tyme the stonyt horss
That, by the sent of a meyr far of syght,
He bradis brays onon, and takis the flyght;
Na brydill may hym dant nor bustuus dynt,
Nowthir bra, hie roch nor brayd fludis stynt.

149

The bustuus bullys oft, for the ȝong ky,
With horn to horn wyrkis othir mony a wound,
So rumysyng with hydduus lowand cry
The feildis all doith of thar rowstis resound:
The meyk hartis, in bellyng, oft ar fond
Mak ferss bargane, and rammys togyddir ryn;
Baris twyte thar tuskis and fret otheris skyn.

The reuthtfull smart and lamentabill cace
Quhilk thar he writis of Leander ȝyng,
Quhou for thi luf, Hero, allace, allace!
In fervent flambe of hait desyre byrnyng,
By nychtis tyde, the hevynnys lowd thundering,
And, all with storm trublyt, the seys flude
Bettand on the rolkis and rowtand as it war wod;

Set he hym not to swym our, wallaway!
The fyrth betwix Sestos and Abydane
(In Europe and in Asya citeis tway);
Hys fader and moder mycht hym not call agane.
O God, quhat harm! thar wes he drynt and slane,
And quhen his lufe saw this myscheif, atanys
Out our the wall scho lap, and brak hir banys.

Lo, quhou Venus kan hir seruandis acquyte!
Lo, quhou hir passionys onbridillis al thar wyt!
Lo, quhou thai tyne thame self for schort delyte!
Lo, from all grace quhou to myscheif thai flyte,
Fra weil to sturt, fra payn to ded, and ȝyt
Thar beyn bot few exempil takis of othir,
Bot wilfully fallys in the fyre, leif brothir.

Be nevir our set, myne author techis so,
With lust of wyne nor warkis veneryane;
Thai febill the strenth; revelys secrete bath two,
Stryfe and debait engendris and feil hess slane;
Honeste, prowes, dreid, schame and luk ar gane
Quhar thai habound; attempyr thame for thy.
Childir to engendir oyss Venus, and not invane;
Hant na surfat, drynk bot quhen thou art dry.

150

Quhat, is this lufe, nyss luffaris, at ȝe meyn,
Or fals dissait fair ladeys to begile?
Thame to defowle, and schent ȝour self betweyn,
Is al ȝour lykyng, with mony suttel wyle.
Is that trew lufe, gude faith and fame to fyle?
Gyf luf be vertu, than is it lefull thing;
Gif it be vyce, it is ȝour ondoyng.

Lust is na lufe, thocht ledis lyke it weill;
This furyus flambe of sensualite
Ar nane amouris bot fantasy ȝe feill;
Carnale plesance, but syght of honeste,
Hatis hym self forsuyth, and luffis nocht the.
Thare beyn twa luffis, perfyte and imperfyte,
That ane leful, the tother fowle delyte.

Lufe is a kyndly passioun, engendryt of heyt
Kyndlyt in the hart, ourspredyng al the corss,
And, as thou seys sum person waik in spreyt,
Sum hait byrnyng as ane onbridillyt horss—
Lyke as the pacient hes heyt of our gret forss,
And in ȝong babbys warmness insufficient,
And into agyt failȝeis, and is out quent,

Rycht so in lufe thou may be excessyve,
Inordinatly luffand ony creature;
This luf alsso it may be defectyve,
To luf thine awin and geif of otheris na cure.
But quhar that lufe is rewlyt by messure,
It may be lyknyt to ane hail manis estait,
In temperat warmness, nowthir to cald nor hait.

Than is thi lufe inordinat, say I,
Quhen ony creatur mair than God thou luffis,
Or ȝit luffis ony to that fyne, quharby
Thi self or thame thou frawartis God remufis:
Fortil attempir thine amouris the behuffis.
Lufe euery wyght for God, and to gude end,
Thame be na wyss to harm, bot to amend.

151

That is to knaw, lufe God for his gudness,
With hart, hail mynde, trew servyce, day and nycht;
Nixt luf thi self, eschewand wykkytnes;
Luf syne thi nychtburris, and wyrk thame nane onrycht,
Willyng at thou and thai may haue the sycht
Of hevynnys blyss, and tyste thame not tharfra,
For, and thou do, syk luf dowe nocht a stra.

Faynt lufe, but grace, for all thi fenȝeit layis,
Thy wantoun willis ar verray vanyte;
Grasless thou askis grace, and thus thou prayis:
“Haue mercy, lady, haue reuth and sum piete!”
And scho, reuthless, agane rewys on the:
Heir is na paramouris fund, bot all haitrent,
Quhar nowthir to weill nor resson tak thai tent.

Callys thou that reutht, quhilk of thar self ne rakkis?
Or is it grace to fall fra grace? nay, nay.
Thou sekis mercy, and tharof myscheif makkis:
Renown and honour quhy wald thou dryfe away?
A brutale appetyte makis ȝong fulys forvay,
Quhilk be resson lyst not thar heyt refreyn,
Haldand opynyon deyr of a boryt beyn.

Says nocht ȝour sentens thus, skant worth a fass,
“Quhat honeste or renoun is tobe dram?
Or forto drowp lyke a fordullyt ass?
Lat ws in ryot leif, in sport and gam;
In Venus covrt, sen born tharto I am,
My tyme weil sal I spend. Wenys thou not so?”
Bot al ȝour solace sal return in gram,
Syk thewless lustis in byttir pane and wo.

Thou auld hasard lichour, fy for schame,
That slotteris furth euermar in sluggardry.
Out on the, auld trat, agit wyfe, or dame,
Eschamys na tyme in rovste of syn to ly!

152

Thir Venus warkis in ȝouthed ar foly,
Bot into eild thai turn in fury rage;
And quha schameless dowblis thar syn, ha fy!
As doith thir vantouris owthir in ȝouth or age?

Quhat nedis avant ȝou of ȝour wykkytnes,
Ȝhe that beyn forcy alane in villans deid?
Quhy gloyr ȝe in ȝour awyn onthriftynes?
Eschame ȝhe not reherss and blaw on breid
Ȝour awyn diffame, havand of God na dreid
Nor ȝyt of hell, provokand otheris to syn,
Ȝhe that lyst of ȝour palȝardry nevir blyn?

Wald God ȝhe purchest bot ȝour awyn myschans,
And war na banareris forto perych mo!
God grant sum tyme ȝe turn ȝou to pennans,
Refrenyng lustis inordinate, and cry ho!
And thar affix ȝour luf and myndis so,
Quhar euer is verray ioy without offens,
That all syk beistly fury ȝhe lat go hens.

Of brokkaris and syk bawdry quhou suld I write,
Of quham the fylth stynkis in Godis neyss?
With Venus henwyffis quhat wyss may I flyte,
That strakis thir wenschis hedis thame to pless?
“Douchtir, for thy lufe this man hes gret dyseyss,”
Quod the bysmeyr with the slekyt speche,
“Rew on hym, it is meryte hys pane to meyss”.
Syk poyd makerellis for Lucifer beyn leche.

Eschame, ȝyng virgynys and fair damcyellis,
Furth of wedlok forto disteyn ȝour kellys;
Traist nocht al talis that wanton woweris tellis,
Ȝow to deflour purposyng, and nocht ellys;
Abhor syk pryce or prayer wirschip sellys.
Quhar schame is lost quyte schent is womanhed;
Quhat of bewte, quhar honeste lyis ded?

153

Rew on ȝour self, ladeys and madynnys ȝyng,
Grant na syk reuth for evir may causs ȝou rew:
Ȝhe fresch gallandis, in hait desyre byrnyng,
Refreyn ȝour curage syk paramouris to persew;
Grund ȝour amouris on charite al new;
Found ȝow on resson—quhat nedis mair to preche?
God grant ȝou grace in luf, as I ȝou tech.

Fy on dissait and fals dissymulans,
Contrar to kynd with fenȝeit cheir smylyng,
Vndyr the cloik of luffis obseruans,
The vennom of the serpent reddy to styng!
Bot al syk crymys in luffis causs I resyng
To the confessioun of morale Ihonne Gower,
For I mon follow the text of our mater.

Thy dowbill wound, Dido, to specify,
I meyn thyne amouris and thi funeral fait,
Quha may endyte, but teris, with eyn dry?
Augustyne confessis hym self wepit, God wait,
Redyng thy lamentabill end mysfortunat.
By the wil I repeyt this verss agane,
“Temporal ioy endis wyth wo and pane”.

Allace, thy dolorus cayss and hard myschance!
From blys to wo, fra sorow to fury rage,
Fra nobylnes, welth, prudens and temperance,
In brutell appetite fall, and wild dotage;
Danter of Affryk, queyn foundar of Cartage,
Vmquhil in rychess and schynyng gloyr ryngyng,
Throw fulych lust wrocht thine awyn ondoyng.

Lo! with quhat thocht, quhat byttyrnes and pane,
Lufe onsylly bredis in euery wight!
Quhou schort quhile doith hys fals plesance remane,
Hys restless blyss how sone takis the flicht!
Hys kyndnes alteris in wraith within a nycht:
Quhat is, bot turment, all hys langsum fayr,
Begun with feir, and endyt in dispayr?

154

Quhat sussy, cuyr and strange ymagynyng,
Quhat ways onlefull, hys purposs to atteyn,
Hess this fals lust at his first begynnyng,
Quhou subtell wylis, and mony quyet meyn,
Quhat slycht dissait quently to flat and feyn!—
Syne in a thraw kan not hym selvyn hyde,
Nor at his first estait no quhile abyde!

Thou swelch, devourar of tyme onrecoverabill,
O lust, infernal furnyss, inextingwybill,
Thy self consumyng worthis insaciabill,
Quent fendis net, to God and man odibill!
Of thi tryggettis quhat tong may tell the tribbill?
With the to wrasyll, thou walxis euer moir wyght;
Eschew thyne hant, and mynnys sall thi mycht.

Se, quhou blynd luffis inordinate desyre
Degradis honour, and resson doith exile!
Dido, of Cartage flour and lamp of Tyre,
Quhais hie renoun na strenth nor gift mycht fyle,
In hir faynt lust sa mait, within schort quhile,
That honeste baith and gude fame war adew,
Syne for disdeyn, allace! hir selvyn slew.

O, quhat avalit thi brute and gloryus name,
Thi moblys, tresour and werkis infinyte,
Thi citeis beilding and thi ryal hame,
Thy realmys, conquest, weilfar and delyte?
To stynt al thing salue thine awyn appetite
So wes in lufe thi frawart destane—
Allace the quhile thou knew the strange Ene!

And sen I suld thy tragedy endyte,
Heir nedis nane othir invocatioun:
Be the command I lusty ladeis quhyte,
Be war with strangeris of onkouth natioun
Wyrk na syk woundris to thar dampnatioun;
Bot til attayin wild amouris at the thai leir:
Thy lusty pane begouth on this maneir.

Heir endis the preambill and begynnys the ferd buke

C marginal note De duplice amore vide Augustus de ciuitate de li. xv. c.xxii.