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Qwil on this wyss ilk man occupyit was,
Reuthful Eneas bownys him to pas
Onone to serss the strenth and tempil tho
Dedicat ontil the myghty Apollo,
That feirfull gowsty cave far from the way,
And secret hald of Sibilla the may,
Quhais hait memor and resson oft infyrit
Delyus, the prophet divyne, and so inspirit
That scho the secretis fortocum did knaw.
With this thai entrit in the hallowit schaw
Of the thrynfald passynger Dyane,
And howss of brycht Apollo gold bigane.
The fame is so, that Dedalus, the wright,
Furth of King Mynos realm takand his flycht,
Sa bald was with swift fedrame, and happy
To aventur hym self heich in the sky,
And by a quent onvsyt way to knaw,
Towart the frosty poil artik he flaw;
Bot, at the last, softly he gan alicht
Of Chalcydonys apon the castell hicht;
And rendrit fyrst into thir landis, he
Offerit and hallowit, Phebus, onto the,
The fard and flycht of baith hys weyngis two,
And thar grathit a fair tempil alsso.
Apon the portis dyd he carve and grave
Androgyus slauchtir, falsly brocht to grave,
And for hys deth the vengeance and the wrake;
Quhou of Athenes commandit war, alake,
Twyss sevyn childir onto Creyt be send,
Perpetualy ilk ȝeir, a sair presand;
The dedly vrn stand porturat mycht thai knaw,
Owt of the quhilk the lottis warrin draw.
Forgane Athenes, a litil our the see,
The ile of Crete he wrocht, musterand ful hie
(The kingis cite thar hecht Gnosya),
Quharin he porturit als ful, wallowa!
The lufe abhominabill of Queyn Pasyphe,
Quhou pryvely with the bul forlane was sche;
The blandit kynd, and birth of formys twane,
The monstruus Mynotawr, doith thar remane,
Ane horribill takin of schrewit Venus wark.
Thar was alsso craftely schape and mark
That namekouth howss, quhilk Laborynthus hait,
Ful of wrynkkillit onreturnabil dissait.
Bot, netheless, Dedalus, cawcht piete
Of the gret luf of fayr Ariadne,
That was the kyngis douchtir, tawght ful rycht
Of this quent howss fortil omdo the slycht—
Quhou by a threid the subtell wentis ilkane
Thai myghtin hald, and turn that way agane.
And thou alsso, the ȝong child Icharus,
Quhilk son was onto this ilk Dedalus,
A gret part of this wark suld haue beyn thyne,
Gyf that the dolour and the huge pyne
Had sufferit hym to kyth his craft on the:
In gold to grave thi fall twyss etlyt he,
And twyss, for rewth, failȝeis the faderis handis.
Eneas tho, and al at with hym standis,
This sculptur al espyit had on breid,
Ne war Achates, quhilk befor him ȝeid,
Be than returnyt was, and with him brocht
The religyus woman quham thai socht,
Baith consecrate to Dyane and Phebus,
Hait Deiphobe, the douchtir of Glawcus,
Quhilk to the king sone spak apon this wyss:
“This tyme,” quod scho, “to stair and to devyss,
Govand on figuris, is not necessary.
Mair neidfull now it war, but langar tary,
Sevin ȝong stottis, that ȝok bur nevir nane,
Brocht from the bow, in offerand brittin ilkane,
And alsmony twyntyrris, as is the gyss,
Chosyn and ganand for the sacrifyss.”
On this wyss till Eneas spak Sibill,
And Troianys tareis nocht forto fulfill
Hir commandment, that, but langar delay,
The sacryfyis and offerand done haue thai;
And syne the nun to the hie tempill thame brocht,
Quhilk in maner of ane gret cave was wrocht,
Of Cuma holkit in the hillis side.
Ane hundreth entreis had it, large and wyde,
Ane hundreth durris tharon stekit closs,
Out at the quhilkis ruschit alsmony a voce,
Gevand responss onto this Sibilla.
Tho to the dur threswald cummyn ar tha,
Quhen that this virgyn said: “To ask answeris
Now is the tyme; lo, lo, the god me steris!”
And as scho gan sik wordis say and cry,
Without the entre standand, suddanly
Nowdir vissage nor cullour, as thai war air,
Remanys than, nor hir weil dressit hair,
Bot fast hir breist the breth dyd clap and bete;
Hir fers hart boldynnys vp ful grete,
Enragit of the sprete divyne alsso,
That of mair statur gan scho semyng tho;
Hir voce ne sovndis lyke a mortale wight;
For, with the goddis maieste and myght
Twichit and smyte, that drew hir mynde ful neir,
Hir hart pipis gan to flekkir and steir.
“Blyn nocht, blyn nocht, thou gret Troiane Ene,
Of thi bedis nor thi prayeris,” quod sche,
“For, bot thou do, thir gret durris, but dreid,
And grisly ȝettis, sal nevir warp on breid.”
And, with that word, scho cessit and no mor said.
The cald dreid gan tho Troianys invaid,
Thirland throu owt hard banys at euery part;
The king hym self than inkirly from his hart
Maid this oryson, and devotly said:
“O bright Phebus, that evir reuth has had
On Troys hard aduersite and wo,
Thow quhilk direkkit the Troiane dartis so
In Achillis body, schot by Parys hand;
This see, at goys about mony gret land,
Thou beand my gidar, entrit haue I,
And eyk the wilsum desert land Masylly,
Quhar the schald sandys strekis endlang the schor;
Now at the last, that fled ws evir mor,
The forther cost of Ital haue we kaucht,
Thocht, hiddertillis, hard fortoun hass omberaucht
The Troianys, and persewit onfrendfully.
Now all ȝe goddis and goddessis, quham by
Vmquhile was thocht gret Ilion ful of ioy,
And the schynand gloryus town of Troy
Semyng resist and gaynstand ȝour godhede,
Lesum it is to desist of ȝour fede,
And now to spair the puyr pepil Troiane.
O thou maist haly prophetess souerane,
Quhat is to cum hess knawlage of all thingis,
Grant at Tewcranys may dwel in Ital ringis,
For I ne ask na land, nor realm algatis,
Bot quhilk is grantit to ws by our fatis—
Schaw and declar for our goddis errand,
That cachit bene our mony see and sand,
Quhar sal thar resting place be to remane,
So eftir that to Phebus and Diane
Of sownd marbill tempillis beld may I,
And festual days for Appollo gar cry.
To the alsso, within our realmys, salbe
Mony secrete closet and revestre,
Quharin thi warkis and fatale destaneis,
Thi secret sawis, and thi propheceis,
Endite of my kyn and genolegy,
I sal gar kepe and obserue reuerendly;
And, O thou blissit woman, onto the
Wyss walit men sal dedicate and sacre;
So that thou write nocht on the levis thi wordis
For dreid al turn bot til a mok or bourdis,
Gif that the wynd thame skattir and blaw away.
Pronunce it with thyne awin mowth, I the pray.”
Tharwith he held hys pace and said no mor.
Bot than Sibill the prophetes, ful ȝor
Within the cave, as half enragit wight,
Kouth nocht contene of Phebus the gret mycht;
And evir the mair scho hyr enforcys ay
The gret god from hir breist dryve away,
The mor he gan invaid hir and infest,
Hir rageand mowth and fers hart, as him lest,
Danting at wil, and forgeand hir sayngis;
Scho was constrenyt to schaw al suthfast thingis.