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  But owder rest or resson, as I war woyd;

  Quhil that the figur of Crevsa and gost,

  Of far mair statur than ayr quhen scho was lost,

  Befor me, catyve, hyr sekand, apperit thar.

  Abasyt I wolx, and widdyrsyns start my hayr;

  Speke mycht I not, the voce in my halss swa stak.

  Than scho, belyfe, on this wyss to me spak,

  With sik wordis my thochtis to asswage:

  ‘O my sweit spowss, into sa furyus rage

  Quhat helpis thus thi selwyn to torment?

  This chance is not but goddis willis went;

  Nor it is nocht leifful thing,’ quod sche,

  ‘Fra hyne Crevse thou turss away with the,

  Nor the hie governour of the hevin abufe is

  Wil suffir it so tobe; bot the behuffis

  From hens to wend ful far into exile

  And our the braid sey sail furth mony a myle

  Or thou cum to the land Hesperya,

  Quhar wyth soft cowrss Tybris of Lydya

  Rynnys throu the rych feldis of pepil stowt;

  Thar is gret substans ordanyt the but dowt,

  Thar salt thou have a realm, thar salt thou ryng

  And wed to spowss the douchtir of a kyng.

  Thy wepyng and thi teris do away

  Quhilk thou makis for thi luffyt Crevsay,

  For I, the neyce of mychty Dardanus

  And gude douchtyr onto the blyssit Venus,

  Of Myrmydonys the realm sal nevir behald

  Nor it the land of Dolopeis so bald,

  Nor go to serve na matron Gregion,

  Bot the gret modir of the goddis ilkon

  In thir cuntreis withhaldis me for evyr.

  Adew, fayr weil, for ay we mon dissevir.

  Thou be gude frend, lufe weil and keip fra skath

  Our a ong son is common til wss baith.’

  Quhen this was spokkyn, fra me away scho glaid,

  Left me wepyng and feil wordis wald have said,

  For sche sa lychtly vanysyt in the ayr

  That with myne armys thryss I presyt thar

  About the hals hir fortil haue belappit,

  And thryss, al waist, my handis togiddir clappit:

  The figur fled as lycht wynd or the son beym,

  Or maist lykly a waverand swevyn or dreym.

  Thus finaly, the nycht al passit and gane,

  Onto my falloschip I return agane,

  Quhar that I fand assemlyt al newly

  So huge a rowt of our folkis that I

  Wondryt the nowmyr, thai so mony weir

  Of men and women gadderit al infeir

  And ong pepil to pass in exile abill

  And of commonys a sort sa miserabill

  Fra euery part that flokkyng fast about,

  Baith with gude wil and thar moblis, but doubt,

  Reddy to wend in quhat cost or cuntre

  That evir me list to cary thame our see.

  Wyth this the day starn, Lucifer the brycht,

  Abuf the top of Ida rayss on hycht,

  Gydand the day hard at his bak followyng:

  The Grekis than we se in the mornyng

  Stand forto kepe the entreis of the portis,

  And thus quhen na hope of reskew at schort is

  My purposs I left, obeyand destanye,

  And careit my fader to Ida hyll on hie.”

  Heir endis the secund buk of Eneados and begynnys the proloug of the thryd

  BUKE III

  [The Proloug of the Thryd Buke]

  Hornyt Lady, pail Cynthia, not brycht,

  Quhilk from thi broder borrowis al thi lycht,

  Rewlare of passage and ways mony one,

  Maistres of stremys, and glaidar of the nycht,

  Schipmen and pilgrymys hallowis thi mycht,

  Lemman to Pan, douchtir of Hyperion,

  That slepand kyssit the hyrd Endymyon,

  Thy strange wentis to write God grant me slycht,

  Twiching the thryd buke of Eneadon.

  The feirful stremys and costis wondyrfull

  Now most I write, althocht my wyt be dull,

  Wild aventuris, monstreis and quent effrays —

  Of onkowth dangeris this nixt buke hail is full;

  Nyce Laborynth, quhar Mynotawr the bull

  Was kepte, had nevir sa feil cahuttis and ways.

  I dreid men clepe thame fablis now on days;

  Tharfor wald God I had thar erys to pull

  Mysknawis the creid, and threpis otheris forvayis.

  Incayss thai bark, I compt it nevir a myte;

  Quha kan not hald thar peice ar fre to flyte;

  Chide quhil thar hedis ryfe and hals worth hayss —

  Weyn thai to murdryss me with thar dispyte?

  Or is it Virgill quham thame list bakbyte?

  His armour wald thai perss? Quhar is the place?

  He dowtis na dynt of polax, swerd nor mace.

  Quhat wenys thou, frend, the craw be worthyn quhite,

  Supposs the holkis be all ourgrowyn thi face?

  Deym as he lest that kan not demyng weill;

  And gentill curtass redaris of gude eill,

  I ow beseik to gevin aduertenss;

  This text is full of storys euery deill,

  Realmys and landis, quharof I haue na feill

  Bot as I follow Virgill in sentens;

  Few knawis all thir costis sa far hens;

  To pike thame vp perchance our eyn suld reill —

  Thus aucht thar nane blame me for smal offens.

  By strange channellis, fronteris and forlandis,

  Onkouth costis and mony wilsum strandis

  Now goith our barge, for nowder howk nor craik

  May heir bruke sail, for schald bankis and sandis.

  From Harpyes fell and blynd Cyclopes handis

  Be my laid star, virgyne moder but maik;

  Thocht storm of temptatioun my schip oft schaik,

  Fra swelth of Sylla and dyrk Caribdis bandis,

  I meyn from hell, salue al go not to wraik.

  Heir endys the proheme and begynnys the thrid buke

  Quhou Eneas fra Troy has tane hys rayss,

  And Polidorus graf has fund in Trace.

  “Eftyr that seyn and thocht expedient

  Was by the goddys to dystroy and schent

  Of Asya the empyre, and down to bryng,

  But offens, Priamus pepil and ofspryng,

  And prowd Ilion was brokyn and bet down,

  And from the soyl al Troy, Neptunus town,

  Ybrynt is smoke of flambis and in reik;

  Syndry landis and cuntreis forto seik,

  And wend exile in diuerss nationys,

  Of the goddis by reuelacionys,

  We war admonyst feil syth, as is said.

  Schippis we graith and navy reddy maid

  Bewtix Anthandros and the mont of Ida,

  Oncertane quhidder the fatis wald we suld ga,

  Or quhar we suld remane it fynaly;

  Our men togidder gadderit we in hy.

  And skant begunnyn was the fresch veir,

  Quhen that Anchises, myne awyn fader deir,

  Bad ws mak saill and follow destany.

  Than, weping sayr, my native cost left I,

  The havynnys, and the feildis dissolait

  Quhar Troys ryall cite stude of lait:

  Furth sail I banyst throw the deip see,

  With my ong son Ascanyus and our mene,

  And with our frendly goddis, Penates hait,

  And eik our gret goddis of mair estait.

  Thar lyis a weirly cuntre weil far thens,

  With large feildis lauborit ful of fens;

  Of Trace the pepill ar thar inhabityng

  Quhar that vmquhile strang Lycurgus was kyng —

  Ane ancyant and ane tendir herbry place

  To Troianys, quhil we stude in fortonys grace,

  Our pepil togidder confederate and aly.

  By schip thid
dir our sey careit was I,

  Quhar, at the bayand costis syde of the see,

  Begouth I first set wallis of a cite,

  Althocht my foundment was mysfortunat:

  The toune I nemmyt efter myne estait

  And fra my name it clepit Eneadas.

  Onto my moder, of Dyona douchter was,

  Sacrifice I maid, and to the goddis all

  Quham for new warkis men happy helparis call;

  And to the kyng of hevinly wightis that tyde

  A quhite bull slew I by the costis syde.

  On cace, thar stude a litil mote neirby,

  Quhar hepthorn buskis on the top grew hie,

  And evin saplynnys of myrthus, the tre funerale.

  Thiddir I went, greyn bewis doune to haill,

  Hard by the grond myne altare forto dycht

  With burgyonys and with branchis al at rycht:

  A grysly takyn, feirful to tell, I se.

  As from the soyll vprent was the first tre

  By the rutys, the blak droppis of blude

  Distillit tharfra, that al the erth quhar it stude

  Was spottit of the fylth and stenyt, allaik!

  The cald dreid maid all my membris quaik,

  And for effeir my blude togidder fresyt.

  Ane other smal twyst of a tre I chesit

  Forto brek down, the causys to assay

  Of this mater, that war onknawyn alway;

  And it the blude followit on the sam maneir

  Furth of the bark of that other, but weir.

  Than in my mynd of mony thingis I musyt,

  And to the goddessis of wildyrnes, as is vsyt,

  Quhilk Hamadriades hait, I wirschip maid,

  Onto Gradyus fader, that ryngnys glaid

  Our all the land of Getya and Tarss

  (Quhilk clepit is the god of armys, Marss),

  Besekyng this avisioun worth happy,

  And the oracle prosperite suld signyfy.

  Bot efter that the thyrd syoun of treys,

  Apon the sandis syttand on my kneys,

  I schupe to haue vprevyn with mair press

  (Quhidder sal I spek now, or hald my pess?),

  Furth of the graif a duylful murnyng law

  I hard, and to myne eris come this saw:

  ‘Ene, quhy rentis thou a wrechit creatur?

  Haue reuth of hym now laid in sepultur,

  And forto fyle thi deuote handis spair;

  Of Troy I born am, to the na strangar:

  This blude droppis nocht from that stok in thi hand.

  Fle sone, allace, furth of this cursyt land,

  Fle from this avarus kyngis cost in hy;

  For lo! thus, Polidorus heir I ly,

  Througyrd with dartis, and thyk steil hedis schote,

  Apon sik wyss ourheildit on this mote;

  The scharp lancis growis greyn and spredis owt.’

  Than wist I not quhat I suld do for dowt,

  The feir affrayit my mynd estonyst als,

  Vpstart my hayr, the word stak in my hals.

  With a gret sold of gold fey Priamus

  Secretly vmquhile send this Polidorus,

  Quhilk was his son, to Polynestor, kyng

  Of Trace, to kepe and haue in nurysyng,

  Quhen first of Troiane defens begouth he dowt

  And saw the town besegyt all abowt.

  Bot this ilk kyng of Trace, seand how Troy

  Lossyt his myghtis be forton turnyt from ioy,

  The party chesis of Agamenon,

  Anherdand to the victouris syde onon;

  Al faith and frendschip brak he than in hy,

  And Polydorus slane has cruelly,

  And thus, be forss, the tresour he doith withhold.

  O cursyt hungyr of this wrachit gold!

  Quhat wikkytnes or myscheif may be do

  At thou constrenys not mortale myndis tharto?

  Eftir this effray was fra my banys went,

  Of the goddis thir feirfull wordis quent

  Onto the noblis and grettast of our men,

  And to my fader fyrst, rehers I then,

  And quhat thar purposs was, eik I inquir.

  Thai war al of a will and a desyr

  To pass furth of this wareit realm of Trace,

  And for toleif that pollut herbry place,

  And set our navy to the wynd but weir.

  Tharfor, to Polidorus vp a beyr

  We erekkit, and of erd a gret fluyr

  Kest in a hepe abuf his sepultur;

  Syne, in ramembrance of the sawlis went,

  The dolorus altaris fast by war vpstent,

  Crownyt with garlandis al of haw sey hewis,

  And with the blaiknyt cypress dedly bewis.

  The Troiane wemen stude with hayr down schaik,

  About the beir weping with mony, ‘Allake!’

  And on we kest of warm mylk mony a skul,

  And of the blude of sacrifyce cowpis full.

  The sawle we bery in sepultur on this wyss,

  The lattir hailsyng syne lowd schowtit thryss,

  Rowpand atanys, ‘Adew!’ Quhen al is done,

  Ilkane per ordour, the mon we follow sone.”

  Quhou Eneas socht answer at Apollyne,

  And quhou he to the land of Crete is salyt syne.

  “Syne, quhen we se our tyme to sail maist habill,

  The blastis mesit, and the fludis stabill,

  The softe piping wynd callyng to see,

  Thar schippis than furth settis our mene:

  e mycht haue sene the costis and the strandis

  Fillit with portage and pepil tharon standis.

  Furth of the havin we salit al onone;

  The sicht of land and cite sone is gone.

  Amyd the sey yclepit Egeos

  Ane haly iland lyis, that hait Delos,

  Beluffit of Neptune and the moder alswa

  Of the Nereydes, clepit Doryda;

  Quham the cheritabil archer, Appollo,

  Quhen it flet rollyng from costis to and fro,

  Saisit and band betwix other ilis twa,

  Quhilk clepit ar Mycone and Gyara,

  Stablisyng so that it mycht lauborit be,

  And comptis nowthir the wynd nor storm of see.

  Thidder ar we careit, and in that plesand land

  A sovir havyn ressavit ws at hand.

  Al wery beyn we yschit furth of schip

  The cite of Apollo to wirschip.

  The kyng tharof, yclepit Anyvs,

  Prince of the men and preste eik to Phebus,

  With bendis baith and haly lawrer crown

  Set on his hed, met ws withowt the town;

  His agit frend Anchises knew this kyng.

  Handis we schuke with hartly welcumyng,

  And to his palyce al with hym we went,

  Quhar that I wirschip, as wes myne entent,

  The god Apollo, within his hallowit hald

  Or tempil beldyt al of stanys ald.

  ‘O thou,’ quod I, ‘Appollo Tymbreus,

  Sum propir dwellyng place thou grant to ws:

  We the beseik that schaw alsso thou wald

  To ws irkit sum strenth and stalwart hald,

  And at thou grant ws eik succession,

  And for to dwel in a remanand town.

  Salve ws, lattir wardis of Troy, that we ne spill,

  Levyngis of Grekis and of the ferss Achill.

  Geif ws thine answer quharon we sal depend;

  Quhidder wilt thou, fader, at we now wend?

  Quhar sall we set our lugyng to remane?

  Condiscend in our myndis, and schaw this plane.’

  Scarss war thir wordis said quhen that I se

  Al thingis trymmyl and schaik neir abowt me,

  The durris and the lawrer tre but dowt,

  And al the montane movit rownd about;

  A murmur or a rumysyng hard we haue

  Within the courtyng and the secret cave;

  The quyet closettis oppynnyt with
a rerd,

  And, we plat law gruflyngis on the erd,

  A voce com til our erys, sayand thus:

  ‘O e dowr pepil discend from Dardanus,

  The ilke grond, fra quham the first stok cam

  Of our lynnage, with blyth bosum the sam

  Sal ou ressaue thiddir returnyng agane:

  To seik our ald moder mak ou bane.

  Thar sal Eneas lynnage haue seneory

  Our al realmys and landis vndir the sky,

  And thar sonnys, and sonnys sonnys syne,

  And al that evir succedis of thar lyne.’

  Thus said Phebus, and than, our folkis amang,

  Mixt with blithnes a fellon dyn vpsprang:

  ‘Quhat place was this,’ euery ane fast gan frane,

  ‘Quhiddir callis Phebus? Byddis he ws turn agane?’

  My fader than, revoluyng in his mynd

  The discens of forfaderis of our strynd,

  ‘Nobillis,’ quod he, ‘harkis quhat I sal say,

  And leyr at me our weilfair, I ou pray.

  The ile of Cret lyis amyd the see,

  The native land of Iupiter maist hie;

  Thar is the first hyll, yclepit Ida,

  Thar our forbearis first in thar credlys lay;

  The land maist plentevs of wyne, oyl and quhete,

  Inhabyt with a hundreth citeis gret,

  Quharfra thar com, gif I remembir rycht,

  Our gret forfader Teucrus the wycht,

  First to the cost of Rethea in Phrygy,

  And for his cite chesit the set fast by —

  For it than was not Ilion vpbeld,

  Nor the strang wallis of Troy, bot on the feld

  Thai dwelt in lugys and mony litil cave.

  The adornar eik of our realm we haue

  From that land, the moder of goddis Cybele,

  And blast of brasyn trumpettis, as e se;

  From thens com eik the wod of Idea,

  And the traist serymonys of sacrifice alswa;

  The fasson eik and gyss we lernyt thar

  Quhou the lyonys suld draw the ladeis char.

  Haue done onon, tharfor, and lat ws wend

  Thiddir quhar the goddis oracle haith ws kend.

  The wynd first lat ws meyss, or that we ga,

  Syne seik the realm of Crete and Gnosia.

  It is not thens lang cowrs nor vyage far;

  Our navy salt, with help of Iupiter,

  The thrid morow be at the cost of Crete.’

  This beand said, ganand offerandis ful mete

  Befor the altaris he slew in sacrifyce;

  A bul first to Neptune, as is the gyss,

  A bull to brycht Appollo for his beheist,

  And to the god of tempestis a blak beist,

  And to the chancy wyndis ane mylk quhite.

  The fame was than, of Crete the cost stude quyte

  Dissolate, but prince; for Idomeneus the kyng

  Was by the pepil expellit from his ryng,