The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse. Gawin Douglas

      In weir to Troy cuntre, I grant, socht I;

      For the quhilk deid, gyf that of our trespas

      Sa gret the offence and the iniurys was,

      Rent me in pecis, and in the fludis swak,

      Or drown law vndir the large seys brak.

      Gyf that I perych, it is ȝit sum comfort

      That I of mennys handis deing at schort.

      Quod he; and tharwith, grulyng on hys kneis,

      He lappit me fast by baith the theys:

      We hym exort to schaw quhat was his name,

      Of quhat kynrent and blude cummyn at hame,

      And syne to tell quhat forton had hym betyde.

      My fader Anchisis na ma wordis wald byde,

      Bot furthwith gaue that ȝong man his richt hand,

      And assurys hys spreit with that presand:

      He at the last this dreid has done away,

      And on this wys begouth to carp and say;

      Of the realm Itachia I am, but les,

      And of the cumpany of fey Vlixes,

      And Achemenydes onto name I hait,

      Cummyn onto Troy with my fader of lait,

      Bot a puyr wageour, clepyt Adamastus;

      Wald God ȝit the sam forton remanyt to ws!

      My falloschip onwytting forȝet me heir,

      Quhen tha thir cruel marchys left for feir,

      And in the Ciclopes huge cave tynt me;

      A gowsty hald within, laithly to se,

      Ful of vennom and mony bludy meys.

      Bustuus hie Poliphemus set at deys

      Thar remanys, that may the starnys schaik;

      Ȝe goddis delyvir this erd from sik wraik!

      For he is vgsum and grysly forto se,

      Hutyt to speke of, and aucht not nemmyt be.

      Thir wrachit mennys flesch, that is hys fude,

      And drynkis worsum, and thar lappyrrit blude.

      I saw myself quhen, gruflyngis amyd his cave,

      Twa bodeys of our sort he tuke and rayf;

      Intil hys hyddus hand thame thrymlyt and wrang,

      And on the stanys owt thar harnys dang,

      Quhil brayn, and eyn, and blude al poplit owt:

      I saw that cruel fend eik thar, but dowt,

      Thar lymmys ryfe and eyt, as he war woid,

      The ȝoustir tharfra chirtand and blak blude,

      And the hait flesch vndir his teith flykkerand.

      Bot not onwrokyn, forsuyth, this feste he fand;

      Nor Vlixes list not lang suffyr this,

      Ne this kyng of Itachy hym self nor his

      Myghtyn forȝet, into sa gret a plyght.

      For sammyn as that horribyll fendlich wight

      Had eyt his fyll, and drunk wyne he hym gave,

      Sowpit in sleip, his nek furth of the cave

      He straucht, fordronkyn, lyggyng in his dreym

      Bokkis furth and ȝyskis of ȝowstyr mony streym,

      Raw lumpys of flesch and blude blandyt with wyne.

      We the gret goddys besocht, and kavillys syne

      Kastis, quhat suld be euery mannys part;

      Syne al atanys abowt and on hym start,

      And, with a scharpyt and brynt steyng of tre,

      Out dyd we boyr and pyke hys mekil E,

      That lurkit alane vndyr hys thrawyn front large,

      Als braid as is a Gregioun scheild or targe,

      Or lyke onto the lantern of the moyn:

      And thus at last haue we ravengit soyn

      Blithly the gostis of our feris ded.

      Bot ȝhe, onhappy men, fle from this sted,

      Fle, fle this cost, and smyte the cabil in twane!

      For quhou grysly and how gret I ȝou sayn

      Lurkis Polyphemus, ȝymmand his beystis rouch,

      And al thar pappis mylkis throuch and throuch,

      Ane hundreth otheris, als huge of quantite,

      Endlang this ilke costis syde of the se,

      Gret Ciclopes inhabitis heir and thar,

      And walkis in thir hie montanys our alquhar.

      The moyn hes now fyllyt hir hornys thrys

      With new lyght sen I haue, on this wys,

      My lyfe in woddis led, but syght of men,

      In desert hyrnys and seyr wild beistis den,

      And far out from my cavern dyd aspy

      The grym Ciclopes, and oft thar grysly cry

      And eik stamping of thar feyt maid me trymmyl.

      My wrachit fude was berreis of the brymmyll,

      And stanyt heppis, quhilk I on buskis fand,

      With rutis of herbis I holkit furth of land:

      And vyssyand al about, I se at last

      This navy of ȝowris drawing hyddir fast,

      Quhamto I me betaucht and gan avow,

      Quhat flote at euer it was; for wayt ȝe quhou

      It is enuch that I eschapyt haue

      Ȝone cruel pepil; I set not of the lave:

      For, rather ȝe or I fal in syk wraik,

      Quhat deith ȝe pleis, the lyfe fra me gar taik.

      CAP. X

      Of Poliphemus, and mony strange cost,

      And how Ene hys fader in Sycill lost.