The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse. Gawin Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ bastard Latyn, Franch, or Inglys oys,

      Quhar scant was Scottis, I had nane other choys.

      Nocht for our tung is in the selwyn skant,

      Bot for that I the fowth of langage want,

      Quhar as the cullour of his properte

      To kepe the sentens tharto constrenyt me,

      Or than to mak my sayng schort sum tyme,

      Mair compendyus, or to lykly my ryme.

      Tharfor gude frendis, for a gymp or a bourd,

      I pray ȝou note me nocht at euery word.

      The worthy clerk hecht Lawrens of the Vaill,

      Amang Latynys a gret patron sans faill,

      Grantis quhen twelf ȝheris he had beyn diligent

      To study Virgill, skant knew he quhat he ment;

      Than thou or I, my frend, quhen we best weyn

      To haue Virgil red, vnderstand, and seyn,

      The rycht sentens perchance is fer to seik;

      This wark twelf ȝheris first was in makyng eyk,

      And nocht correct quhen the poet gan deces;

      Thus for small faltis my wys frend hald thy pes.

      Adherdand to my protestatioun,

      Thocht Wilȝame Caxtoun, of Inglis natioun,

      In proys hes prent are buke of Inglis gros,

      Clepand it Virgill in Eneados,

      Quhilk that he says of Franch he did translait,

      It has na thing ado tharwith, God wait,

      Ne na mair lyke than the devill and Sanct Austyne;

      Haue he na thank tharfor, bot loys hys pyne,

      So schamefully that story dyd pervert;

      I red hys wark with harmys at my hart,

      That syk a buke, but sentens or engyne,

      Suldbe intitillit eftir the poet dyvyne;

      His ornate goldyn versis, mair than gilt,

      I spittit for dispyte to se swa spilt

      With sych a wyght, quhilk trewly, be myne entent,

      Knew neuer thre wordis at all quhat Virgill ment:

      Sa fer he chowpis I am constrenyt to flyte.

      The thre first bukis he has ourhippyt quyte,

      Salfand a litill twychyng Polidorus,

      And the tempest furth sent by Eolus,

      And that full sempilly on hys awyn gys;

      Virgill thame wrait all on ane other wys.

      For Caxton puttis in hys buke out of toyn,

      The storm furth sent by Eolus and Neptune;

      Bot quha sa redis Virgill suythfastly,

      Sall fynd Neptune salf Eneas navy.

      Me lyst nocht schaw quhou thystory of Dydo,

      Be this Caxtoun is haill pervertit so,

      That besyde quhar he fenys to follow Bocas,

      He rynnys sa fer from Virgill in mony place,

      On sa prolixt and tedyus fasson,

      So that the ferd buke of Eneadon,

      Twichand the lufe and ded of Dido queyn,

      The twa part of his volume doith conteyn,

      That in the text of Virgill, trastis me,

      The twelt part scars contenys, as ȝe may se.

      The fyfte buke of the festis funerall,

      The lusty gammys, and plays palustrall,

      That is ourhippit quyte and left behynd,

      Na thing tharof ȝhe sall in Caxtoun fynd.

      The saxt buke eyk, he grantis, that wantis haill,

      And, for tharof he vnderstude nocht the taill,

      He callis it fenȝeit, and nocht for to beleif;

      Sa is all Virgill perchans, for by his leif

      Juno nor Venus goddessis neuer war,

      Mercure, Neptune, Mars, nor Jupiter,

      Of Fortune eik, nor hir necessite,

      Sik thingis nocht attentik ar, wait we,

      Nor ȝit admittis that quent philosophy

      Haldis sawlys hoppys fra body to body,

      And mony thingis quhilkis Virgill dyd rehers,

      Thocht I thame write furthfollowand hys vers.

      Nor Caxtoun schrynkis nocht siclyke thyngis to tell

      As nocht war fabill, bot the passage to hell;

      But trastis weill, quha that ilke saxt buke knew,

      Virgill tharin ane hie philosophour hym schew,

      And, vnder the clowdis of dyrk poetry,

      Hyd lyis thar mony notabill history.

      For so the poetis, be ther crafty curys,

      In similitudes, and vndir quent figuris,

      The suythfast materis to hyde and to constreyn;

      All is nocht fals, traste weill, in cace thai feyn,

      Thair art is so to mak thar warkis fair,

      As in the end of Virgill I sall declair.

      Was it nocht eik als possibill Eneas,

      As Hercules or Theseus tyll hell to pas?

      Quhilk is na gabbyng suythly, nor na lie,

      As Jhone Bocas in the genealogie

      Of Goddys declarys, and lyke as ȝhe may reid

      In the recolles of Troy, quha lest tak hed.

      Quha wait gyf he in visioun thydder went

      By art magike, sorcery, or enchantment,

      And with his faderis sawle dyd speke and meyt,

      Or in the lyknes with sum other spreit,

      Lyke as the spreit of Samuell, I ges,

      Raysit to King Saul was by the Phitones?

      I will nocht say all Virgill beyn als trew,

      But at syk thyngis ar possibill this I schew;

      Als in tha days war ma illusionys,

      By dewillich warkis and coniurationis,

      Than now thar beyn, so doith clerkis determ;

      For, blissit be God, the faith is now mair ferm.

      Enewch tharof, now will I na mor sayn,

      Bot onto Caxtoun thus I turn agane.

      The namys of pepill or citeis beyn so bad

      Put by this Caxtoun, that, bot he had beyn mad,

      The flude of Touyr for Tibir he had nocht write;

      All men may knaw thar he forvayt quyte.

      Palente the cite of Evander kyng,

      As Virgill playnly makis rehersyng,

      Stude quhar in Rome now stant the cheif palyce;

      This sam buke eyk, in mair hepit malyce,

      On the self ryver of Touyr says playnly

      Eneas dyd hys cyte edify.

      Thus ay for Tibir Touyr puttis he,

      Quhilk mony hundreth mylis syndry be;

      For sykkyrly, les than wys authoris leyn,

      Ene saw nevir Touyr with hys eyn;

      For Touyr diuidis Grece from Vngary,

      And СКАЧАТЬ