Kitabı oku: «The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse», sayfa 9
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CAP. IX
Of the Greik clepit Achemenydes
Rehersyng Ene the natur of Ciclopes.
The secund day be this sprang fra the est,
Quhen Aurora the wak nycht dyd arest
And chays fra hevyn with hir dym skyis donk:
Than suddanly, furth of the woddis ronk,
We se a strange man, of form onknaw;
A lenar wight, na mayr pynyt, I ne saw,
Nor ȝit sa wrachitly beseyn a wy;
Towart the cost, quhar that we stude in hy,
Hys handis furth he strekis askand supple.
We hym behald, and al hys cors gan se
Maist laithly ful of ordur, and hys berd
Rekand doun the lenth neir of a ȝerd;
Hys tawbart and array sewyt with breris:
Bot he was Greik be all hys othir feris,
And vmquhile was, as eftir weil we kend,
To Troy intil hys faderis armour send.
This ilk man, fra he beheld on far
Troiane habitis, and of our armys wes war,
At the first sicht he styntit and stude aw,
And fra hys pays begouth abak to draw;
Bot sone eftyr cummys rynnyng in a rays
Down to the schoir, wepyng and askand grace:
O ȝe Troianys, be all the planetis, quod he,
Be all the starnys and the goddis hie,
And be the hailsum spreit of hevynnys lycht,
I beseik tak me with ȝou, catyve wycht,
And leid me in quhat land at euer ȝe ples:
That may suffys; that war my hartis eys.
I knaw me ane of the Grekis navy;
In weir to Troy cuntre, I grant, socht I;
For the quhilk deid, gyf that of our trespas
Sa gret the offence and the iniurys was,
Rent me in pecis, and in the fludis swak,
Or drown law vndir the large seys brak.
Gyf that I perych, it is ȝit sum comfort
That I of mennys handis deing at schort.
Quod he; and tharwith, grulyng on hys kneis,
He lappit me fast by baith the theys:
We hym exort to schaw quhat was his name,
Of quhat kynrent and blude cummyn at hame,
And syne to tell quhat forton had hym betyde.
My fader Anchisis na ma wordis wald byde,
Bot furthwith gaue that ȝong man his richt hand,
And assurys hys spreit with that presand:
He at the last this dreid has done away,
And on this wys begouth to carp and say;
Of the realm Itachia I am, but les,
And of the cumpany of fey Vlixes,
And Achemenydes onto name I hait,
Cummyn onto Troy with my fader of lait,
Bot a puyr wageour, clepyt Adamastus;
Wald God ȝit the sam forton remanyt to ws!
My falloschip onwytting forȝet me heir,
Quhen tha thir cruel marchys left for feir,
And in the Ciclopes huge cave tynt me;
A gowsty hald within, laithly to se,
Ful of vennom and mony bludy meys.
Bustuus hie Poliphemus set at deys
Thar remanys, that may the starnys schaik;
Ȝe goddis delyvir this erd from sik wraik!
For he is vgsum and grysly forto se,
Hutyt to speke of, and aucht not nemmyt be.
Thir wrachit mennys flesch, that is hys fude,
And drynkis worsum, and thar lappyrrit blude.
I saw myself quhen, gruflyngis amyd his cave,
Twa bodeys of our sort he tuke and rayf;
Intil hys hyddus hand thame thrymlyt and wrang,
And on the stanys owt thar harnys dang,
Quhil brayn, and eyn, and blude al poplit owt:
I saw that cruel fend eik thar, but dowt,
Thar lymmys ryfe and eyt, as he war woid,
The ȝoustir tharfra chirtand and blak blude,
And the hait flesch vndir his teith flykkerand.
Bot not onwrokyn, forsuyth, this feste he fand;
Nor Vlixes list not lang suffyr this,
Ne this kyng of Itachy hym self nor his
Myghtyn forȝet, into sa gret a plyght.
For sammyn as that horribyll fendlich wight
Had eyt his fyll, and drunk wyne he hym gave,
Sowpit in sleip, his nek furth of the cave
He straucht, fordronkyn, lyggyng in his dreym
Bokkis furth and ȝyskis of ȝowstyr mony streym,
Raw lumpys of flesch and blude blandyt with wyne.
We the gret goddys besocht, and kavillys syne
Kastis, quhat suld be euery mannys part;
Syne al atanys abowt and on hym start,
And, with a scharpyt and brynt steyng of tre,
Out dyd we boyr and pyke hys mekil E,
That lurkit alane vndyr hys thrawyn front large,
Als braid as is a Gregioun scheild or targe,
Or lyke onto the lantern of the moyn:
And thus at last haue we ravengit soyn
Blithly the gostis of our feris ded.
Bot ȝhe, onhappy men, fle from this sted,
Fle, fle this cost, and smyte the cabil in twane!
For quhou grysly and how gret I ȝou sayn
Lurkis Polyphemus, ȝymmand his beystis rouch,
And al thar pappis mylkis throuch and throuch,
Ane hundreth otheris, als huge of quantite,
Endlang this ilke costis syde of the se,
Gret Ciclopes inhabitis heir and thar,
And walkis in thir hie montanys our alquhar.
The moyn hes now fyllyt hir hornys thrys
With new lyght sen I haue, on this wys,
My lyfe in woddis led, but syght of men,
In desert hyrnys and seyr wild beistis den,
And far out from my cavern dyd aspy
The grym Ciclopes, and oft thar grysly cry
And eik stamping of thar feyt maid me trymmyl.
My wrachit fude was berreis of the brymmyll,
And stanyt heppis, quhilk I on buskis fand,
With rutis of herbis I holkit furth of land:
And vyssyand al about, I se at last
This navy of ȝowris drawing hyddir fast,
Quhamto I me betaucht and gan avow,
Quhat flote at euer it was; for wayt ȝe quhou
It is enuch that I eschapyt haue
Ȝone cruel pepil; I set not of the lave:
For, rather ȝe or I fal in syk wraik,
Quhat deith ȝe pleis, the lyfe fra me gar taik.
CAP. X
Of Poliphemus, and mony strange cost,
And how Ene hys fader in Sycill lost.
Skars this wes sayd, quhen sone we gat a sycht
Apon ane hyll stalkand this hydduus wight,
Amang hys beystis, the hyrd Poliphemus,
Down to the costis bekend draw towartis ws:
A monstre horribyll, onmesurabill and myschaip,
Wanting hys syght, and gan to stab and graip
With hys burdon, that wes a gret fyr tre,
Fermand his steppis, becaus he mycht not se;
The wollyt scheip him followyng at the bak,
Quharin his plesur and delyte gan he tak.
About hys hals a quhissil hung had he,
Wes all his solace for tynsell of hys E;
And, with his staf fra he the deip flude
Twichit, and cummyn at the seysyde stude,
Of hys E dolp the flowand blude and attir
He wysch away al with the salt wattir,
Grassilland his teith, and rummysand full hie.
He wadis furth throu myddis of the see,
And ȝit the wattir wet not hys lang syde.
We, far from thens affrayt, durst not abyde,
Bot fled onon, and within burd hes brocht
That faithful Greik quhilk ws of succurs socht,
And prevyly we smyte the cabill in twane;
Syne, kempand with aris in al our mane,
Vp weltris watir of the salt sey flude.
He persauyt the sownd, quhar that he stude,
And towart the dyn movis hys pays onon:
Bot quhen he felt at we sa far war gone,
Sa that his handis ws areke ne mycht,
Nor the deip sey Ionium, for all hys hycht,
Ne mycht he waid equale ws to arest,
A fellon bray and huge schowt vp he kest,
Quharthrou the sey and al the fludis schuke;
The land alhail of Itail trymlyt and qwoyk;
And holl cavernys or furnys of Ethna rownd
Rummyst and lowyt, fordynnyt with the sound.
Bot than, furth of the woddis and hillys hie,
Walkynnyt with the cry, a huge pepill we se
Of Ciclopes cum hurland to the port,
And fillyt all the cost sydis at schort.
Tha elrych bredyr, with thar lukis thrawyn,
Thocht not avalyt, thar standyng haue we knawyn;
Ane horribil sort, with mony camscho beik,
And hedis semand to the hevyn areik:
Syklyke as quhar that, with thar hie toppis,
The byg akis strekyng in the ayr thar croppys,
Or than thir cipressis berand heich thar bewys,
Growand in the woddis or hie vp on hewis,
In schawys ald, as men may se from far,
Hallowyt to Dyane or ȝit to Jupiter.
The scharp dreid maid ws so to cach haist,
Withdrawand fast, as thocht we had bene chaist,
And for to set our sail quhidder we best mycht,
To follow the wynd, and hald na courssis rycht.
Aganys the counsale of Helenus, our feris
Perswadis to hald furth evyn the way that steris
Mydwart betwix Charibdis and Scylla,
A litil space fra ded by athir of twa:
For, bot we hald that cours, for owtyn fail,
Bakwartis, thai said, on Ciclopes mon we saill.
Bot lo! onon a fair wynd, or we wist,
Rays of the north, blawing evyn as we lyst,
From the strait bay of Pelorus the mont
And sone we swepyt by, at the fyrst bront,
The mouth of flude Pantagyas ful of stanys,
The sownd Megarus, and Tapsum ile atanys.
The namys of thir costis, Achemenydes,
The companȝeon of onhappy Vlixes,
Raknys to ws, as we past ane by ane;
For we return the sammyn went agane
Quhar thar navy had waverit by thar rays.
Within the fyrth of Sycill, forgane the face
Of the flude Plemyrion full of wallis,
Thar lyis ane Iland, quhilk our elderis callis
Orthigia; quhar that the fame is so
That Alpheus, ane of the ryveris two
Of the cite of Elys in Archaid,
Vndir the sey gan thyddir flow and wayd
Throu secrete cundytis, and now eik, as thai say,
Arethusa, at thi mouth or ischay,
It entris rynnyng in the Sycill see.
The gret goddis of that place wirschip we,
At command of my fader; and fra thyne
The fertill grond of Helory passyt syne,
Quhilk flude watyris al the feild about.
Thar on the craggis our navy stude in dowt;
For on blynd stanys and rolkis hyrslit we,
Tumblit of mont Pachynnus in the see:
And far from thens the loch Cameryna,
Quham the fatis forbyddis to do away,
Apperis to ws, and of Geloy the feildis,
Quhar that the gret cite Gela vpbeild is,
Havand the surname fra the flude fast by:
Syne heich Agragas far of we gan aspy,
A hyl and cite with large wallys of fors,
Quhar vmquhile bred war the maist weirlyke hors:
And the alsso, Selynys, I left behynd,
For al thi palm treys, with the followand wynd.
The dangerus schaldis and cost vppykyt we,
With al hys blynd rolkis, of Lylibe.
Thar the port of Drepanon, and the rayd,
Quham to remember my hart may nevir be glaid,
Ressauyt me, quhar that, allace, allace!
I leys my fader, al comfort and solace,
And al supple of our travell and pane;
Thar, thar allaik! sa feill dangeris bygane
And tempestis of the sey. O fader most deir,
Anchises, desolate quhy left thou me heir
Wery and irkyt in a fremmyt land?
O weilaway! for nocht wes all, I fand,
That thou eschapit sa mony perrellis huge.
Helenus the dyvyne, as we with hym gan luge,
Quhen horribill thingis seir he dyd aduert,
Schew not befor to me thir harmys smert,
Nor ȝit the fellon and akwart Celeno.
This wes extreme laubour of pane and wo;
Thys was the end of all hys lang vayage:
And hyddir syne, warpyt with seys rage,
Apon ȝour costis, as I fra thens was dryve,
Sum happy chance and God maid me arryve.
The Prynce Eneas, on this wys, alane
The fatis of goddys and rasys mony ane
Rehersyng schew, and syndry strange wentis;
The queyn and all the Tyrryanys takand tentis.
And at the last he cessyt and said no moir,
Endyng his tayll as ȝe haue hard befor.
THE PROLOUG OF THE FERD BUKE
With 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 joly wo neidlyngis most I endyte,
Begynyng 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 be schorn?
Quhat is ȝour fors 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 fary joys beyn bot janglyng and japys,
And ȝour trew seruandis sylly goddys apys.
Ȝour sweit myrthis ar mixt with byttyrnes;
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, quhidder art thou joy or fulychnes,
That makis folk sa glaid of thar distres?
Salomonys wyt, Sampson thou rubbist hys fors,
And Dauid thou byreft hys prophecy;
Men says thou brydillyt Aristotyll as ane hors,
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 heryt hell.
Thou makist febill wight, and lawyst the hie;
Thou knyttis frendschyp quhar thar beyn na parage;
Thou Jonathas confederat with Davy;
Thou dantyt Alexander for all his vaslalage;
Thou festnyt Jacob fourteyn ȝheir in bondage;
Thou techit Hercules go lern to spyn,
Reke Dyomeir hys mays 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 fors,
In hys Georgikis! quhou thyne ondantyt myght
Constrenys so sum tyme the stonyt hors
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,
Nowther bra, hie roch, nor brayd fludis stynt.
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 fers 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 hevynys 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 flyt,
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 hes slane;
Honeste, prowes, dreid, schame and luk ar gane
Quhar thai habound; attempyr thame for thy.
Childir to engendir oys Venus, and not invane;
Hant na surfat, drynk bot quhen thou art dry.
Quhat? is this lufe, nys 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 cors:
And, as thou seys sum person waik in spreyt,
Sum hait byrnyng as ane onbridillyt hors;
Lyke as the pacient hes heyt of our gret fors,
And in ȝong babbys warmnes insufficient,
And into agyt failȝeis, and is out quent;
Rycht so in luf thou may be excessyve,
Inordinatly luffand ony creature;
Thi luf alsso it may be defectyve,
To luf thine awin and geif of otheris na cure:
Bot quhar that lufe is rewlyt by messure,
It may be lyknyt to ane hail mannis estait,
In temperat warmnes, 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 wys to harm, bot to amend.
That is to knaw, lufe God for his gudnes,
With hart, hail mynde, trew servyce, day and nycht;
Nixt luf thi self, eschewand wykkytnes;
Lufe syne thi nychtburris, and wyrk thame nane onrycht,
Willyng at thou and thai may haue the syght
Of hevynnys blys, 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;
Grasles thou askis grace, and thus thou prayis;
Haue mercy, lady, haue reuth and sum piete!
And scho, reuthtles, 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 fas,
Quhat honeste or renoun is to be dram?
Or forto drowp lyke a fordullyt as?
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 thewles 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!
Thir Venus warkis in ȝouthed ar foly,
Bot into eild thai turn in fury rage;
And quha schameles 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 rehers 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 joy 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 neys?
With Venus henwyffis quhat wys may I flyte,
That strakis thir wenschis hedis thame to ples?
Douchtir, for thy lufe this man hes gret dyseys,
Quod the bysmeyr with the slekyt speche;
Rew on hym, it is meryte hys pane to meys:
Syk poyd makcrellis for Lucifer beyn leche.
Eschame, ȝyng virgynys, and fair damycellis,
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?
Rew on ȝour self, ladeys and madynnys ȝyng,
Grant na syk reuth for evir may caus 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 venom of the serpent reddy to styng!
Bot al syk crymys in luffis caus I resyng
To the confessioun of morale Jhonne 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 vers agane,
Temporal joy endis wyth wo and pane.
Allace, thy dolorus cays 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 ryches and schynyng gloyr ryngnyng,
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 restles blys 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?
Quhat sussy, cuyr, and strange ymagynyng,
Quhat ways onlefull, hys purpos to atteyn,
Hes 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, deuourar of tyme onrecoverabill,
O lust, infernal furnys, 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 sal 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.
Türler ve etiketler
Yaş sınırı:
12+Litres'teki yayın tarihi:
30 haziran 2018Hacim:
700 s. 1 illüstrasyonTercüman:
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