stack.jpg

THE PROLOUG

OF

THE THRID BUIK



HORNYT Lady, paill Cynthia, nocht brycht,
Quhilk fra thi broder borrowis all thi lycht,
Rewlar of passage and wais mony one,
Maistres of stremis, and glaider of the nycht,
Schipmen and pilgrymmis hallowis thi mycht,
Leman to Pan, dochtir of Hyperione,
That slepand kist the hird Endymione,
Thi strange wentis to write God gif me slycht,
Tuiching the thrid buik of Eneadone.

The feirful stremys and costis wounderfull
Now moist I write, allthocht my wit be dull,
Wyld auentouris, monstreis, and qwent affrayis ;
Of uncouth dangeris this nixt buik hail is full :
Nyce laborynth, quhar Mynotaur the bull
Was kepit, had neuir sa feill cahutis and wais ;
I dreid men cleip thame fabillis now on dais ;
Tharfore wald God I had thair eris to pull
Misknawis the creid, and threpis othir forwayis.

In cais thai bark, I compt it neuir a myte ;
Quha can nocht hald thair peice ar ire to flyte,
Chyde quhill thair heidis rife, and hals worth hais ;
Wene thai to murdreis me with thair despyte ?
Or is it Virgile quhame thai list bakbyte ?
His armour wald thai pers ? quhar is the place ?
He dowtis na dynt of pollax, sword, nor mace.
Quhat wenis thou, frend, the craw be worthin quhite,
Suppose the holkis be all ourgrowin thi face ?

Deme as ʒe list, that can nocht demyng weill ;
And, gentill curtas redaris of guide ʒeill,
I ʒou beseik to gevin aduertence,
This text is full of storyis euery deill,
Realmes and landis, quharof I haue na feill
Bot as I follow Virgile in sentence ;
Few knawis all thir coistis sa fer hence ;
To pike thame wp perchance ʒour eene suld reill ;
Thus aucht thair nane blame me for small offence.

By strange channellis, fronteris, and forlandis,
Vncouth coistis, and mony wilsum strandis
Now gois our barge, for nother houk nor craik
May heir bruik sail, for schald bankis and sandis.
From Harpyes fell, and blind Ciclopes handis,
Be my leid ster, virgine modir, but maik ;
Thocht storme of temptatioun my schip oft shaik,
Fra swelth of Silla, and dirk Charibdis bandis,
I mene from hell, salf all go nocht to wraik.

Finis Prologi Tertii Libri.