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,20
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,25
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.5
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.10
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,15
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,20
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,25
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;5
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,10
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 desyre15
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;20
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?25
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,5
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.
THE FERD BUKE OF ENEADOS.
CAP. I.
The thochtfull queyn, with mony amorus claws,
Til hir systir complenys in luffis caws.
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,5
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.10
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 kynd15
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,5
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;10
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!15
Now, certis, war it not determyt with me,
And