The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse. Gawin Douglas

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      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

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