Gawin Douglas - The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse

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.

Be this the Queyn, throw hevy thochtis onsound,
In euery vayn nurysys the greyn wound,
Smytyn so deip with the blynd fyre of lufe
Hir trublyt mynd gan fra all rest remufe.
Compasing the gret prowes of Ene,
The large wirschip feill sys remembris sche
Of his lynnage and folkis; for ay present
Deip in hir breist so was hys figur prent,
And all hys wordis fixt, that, for bissy thocht,
Noyn eys hir membris nor quyet suffir mocht.
The nixt day following, with hys lamp brycht
As Phebus dyd the grund or erth alycht,
Eftir the dawing heth the donk nychtis clowd
Chasyt from the sky, and the ayr new schrowd;
Ful evil at eys queyn Dido on this kynd
Spak to hir systir, wes of the sammyn mynd.
My sistir An, quhat swevynnys beyn thir, quod sche,
Quhilk me affrays in sik proplexite?
Quhat be he, this gret new gest or stranger,
Onto our realm laitly is drevyn heir?
Quhou wys in speche, and in his commonyng,
He schawys hym self! O God, quhat wondir thing!
Quhou stout in curage! in weir quhou vailȝeand!
I trow sistir, and, as I vndirstand,
Myne opinion is nane oncertane thing,
Thai beyn sum lynnage of verray goddis ofspring;
For dreid always and schaymful kowardys
Degeneryt wightis and bowbartis notyfys.
Allace! quhat wondir fatale aventuris
Hes hym bywaif! quhat travel, pane and curis,
How huge batellis, be hym eschewit, tald he!
Now, certis, war it not determyt with me,
And fixit in my mynd onmovabilly,
That to no wyght in wedlok me list I
Cuppil nor knyt, sen my first luf is gane,
By deth dissoverit, and left me alane;
War not alsso to me is displesant
Genyvs chalmyr or matrymone to hant;
Perchans I mycht be venquist in this rage,
Throu this a cryme of secund mariage.
Annes, I grant to the, sen the deces
Of my sory husband Syche, but les,
Quhar that our hows with brodyrris ded wes sprent,
Only this man hes movit myne entent,
And heth my mynd inducyt to forvay:
I knaw and felis the wemmys and the way
Of the ald fyre and flambe of luffis heit.
Bot rather I desyre baith cors and spreit
Of me the erth swelly law adown,
Or than almychty Jove with thundris sovn
Me smyte ful deip onto the schaddoys dern,
Amang pail gastis of hellis holl cavern,
In the profond pot of deth and dyrk nycht,
Or I becum so schamful wrachit wyght
That I myne honeste fyle or womanhed,
Or brek ȝour lawis; na, quhil I be ded!
He, that me first to hym in wedlok knyt,
My first flowr of amouris tuke, and ȝyt
For euermair with hym he sal thame haue,
And he most keip thame with hym in his grave.
Thus sayand, the brycht teris onon owtbrist,
And fillyt all hir bosum or scho wist.
Annes answerd; O thou, sa mot I thryve,
To thi systir derrar than hir awyn lyve,
Quhiddir gif thou wilt alane, in wedowhed,
Evir murnand thus waist away thy ȝouthed,
Nowthir ȝyt the comfort of sweit childring thou knawis,
Nor the plesour felis of Venus lawys?
Quhat! wenys thou assys cald and gastis in grave
Of al syk walyng ony fest sal haue?
In cays that in thi duyl afor thir days,
Thy lord new ded, the list inclyne na ways
Nowthir prynce nor duke to tak as for husband;
Suppos thou lychtlyit than, of Lyby land,
Hyarbas kyng, and othir heris all,
Quhilkis in the rich sulȝe triumphall
Of Aufrik boundis dwelling wyde quhar;
Quhat! wilt thou als debatyng euer mar
Agane this lykand lufe, cummys of plesance?
Consideris thou not, and hes in remembrance,
Amyddys quhays grond heir thou remanys?
On this hand, citeis of Getulyanys,
A kynd of pepill invincibill in batell;
Heir the ondantit folk of Numyda dwell,
And, on that other part, ombyset, I wys,
We ar with bustuus onfrendly Syrtis;
And ȝondir the desert region alsswa,
Ay full of thryst, in barrand Libya;
And wydquhar thens the wild pepil of Barchay.
The weris moving from Tyre quhat sal I say,
And the gret brag and mannans of our brothir?
Be disposicioun of goddis, I weyn, nane othir,
And by the purvyans of Juno, to our supple,
Thir Troiane schippis by prospir wynd our see
Heth hyddir set thar coursys fortunate.
O systir myne, consider in quhat estait
Thys cite, quhilk thou beildis, sal vprys!
Persaue quhou that this realm may, on syk wys,
Beyn vpheyt throu sa nobil a mariage!
Behald quhou mekill the glory of Cartage
Salbe extollyt, and encres in euery thyng,
Throu help in armys of the Troianys ofspryng!
Quharfor, the nedis beseik goddis of thar grace,
With sacrifyce, tobe favorabil in this cace.
Do set alhaill thi cure and diligence
To causyng hym mak with the residence,
And fenȝe causys to tary hym and wythhald,
So lang as thus, duryng the wyntir cald,
The sey ragis throu watry Orion,
And quhil the stormys be al our blawyn and gon;
And quhil hys schippis, with the tempest schaik,
Be bet, byd spair nowthir fyr, elm, nor aik.