.

      Quhat thocht thou now, Dydo, seand thir thingis?

      Quhou mony sobbys gave thou and womentyngis,

      Quhen thou, out of thi castell from the hycht,

      The large costis beheld thus at a sycht

      Ourspred with Troianys, in fervent bissynes

      Gan spedely for thar vayage addres,

      And of thar clamour befor thine eyn dyd se

      Dyn and resoundyng al the large see?

      O wytles lufe! quhat may be thocht or do,

      At thou constrenys nocht mortell myndis therto?

      Scho is compellit to fal agane to teris,

      And Eneas assay with new prayeris;

      And condiscendyt hir provd hart to submyt

      Onto the strenth of lufe thus anys ȝyt:

      Les scho onwar, but caus, hir deth purvayt,

      Hir list na thyng behynd leif onassayt.

      Till hir scho gan hir systir call in hy:

      Annes, quod scho, thou seys how byssely,

      Our al the cost, for this vayage haist thai,

      And now the wynd blawis weil to sail away:

      The maryneris glaid lays thar schippis vndyr croys.

      O systir! in tyme kouth I haue trowyt this loys,

      And sa gret dolour, I had providyt, but weir,

      That this displesour suld haue beyn eith to beir.

      And netheles, for me, onhappy wight,

      Do this a thing, Annes, with al thi mycht:

      Sen ȝon ilk faithles man, deir systir, the

      Was wont to cherys, and hald in gret dante,

      And als hys secretis onto the reveill;

      Hys sweit entres sum tyme thou knew ful weill,

      Nane bot thou only the tyme of hys cummyng.

      Pas on, systir; in my name this a thyng

      Say lawly to my provd fa, and declair,

      That in the port Aulyda I neuer swair

      With the Grekis the Troianys to distroy;

      Nor I non navy send to sege Troy;

      Nor ȝyt his fader Anchises graf schent;

      I nothir the muldis nor banys tharof rent.

      Quhy doith he reffus my wordis and prayeris

      To lat entir in his dul ontretabill eris?

      Quhidder haistis he sa fast from hys behufe

      Beseik hym grant ontil his wrachyt lufe

      This lattir reward, sen algatis he wil fle;

      Tary quhil wynd blaw soft, and stabill see.

      His ald promys na mair wil I hym crave,

      Nor band of wedlok, quhilk he hes dissave;

      Nor ȝyt him pray go not to Italy,

      Ne leif fair realmys, onto him destany:

      A litil delay I ask, but othir eys,

      A space my furor to asswage and meys;

      Quhill that my frawart forton and estait

      Of my beleve schaw me I am frustrait,

      And tech me for to murn mair paciently.

      This lattir gift only at hym ask I.

      Haue mercy, systir, of thy systir deyr:

      Quhilk seruyce quhen thou done hes, without weir,

      I sal the recompens weil twenty fald,

      And, quhil my ded, the sam in memor hald.

      With syklyke wordis hir request scho maid.

      Hir supplicatioun, with teris ful onglaid,

      Reportis hir systir, and answer brocht agane

      Quhou al hir prayeris and desyre was invane:

      For al thar wepyng mycht not him anys steir;

      Nane of thar wordis lykis hym to heir,

      Thocht he of natur was tretabill and curtas.

      The fatis war contrar thar desyre netheles,

      And hys benyng eris the goddis dyttit,

      That of thar askyng thar was nocht admittit.

      And lyke as quhen the ancyant aik tre,

      With hys byg schank, by north wynd oft we se

      Is ombeset, to bet hym down and ourthraw,

      Now heir, now thar, with the fell blastis blaw,

      The swouchand byr quhisland amang the granys,

      So that the hyast branchys, al atanys,

      Thar croppys bowis towart the erth als tyte,

      Quhen with the dynt the maister stok schank is smyte;

      And, netheles, the ilk tre, fixit fast,

      Stikkis to the rochis, not doun bet with the blast:

      For quhy? als far as his crop heich on breid

      Strekis in the ayr, als far hys rut doith spreid

      Deip vndir erth, towart the hell adoun:

      The sammyn wys was this gentil baroun,

      Now heir, now thar, with wordis ombeset,

      And in his stout breist, ful of thochtis het,

      Of reuth and amouris felt the perturbance.

      Bot euer his mynd stude ferm, for ony chance

      Onmovyt, quhar hys fyrst purpos was set,

      That al for nocht the teris war furthȝet.

      Than suythly, the fey Dydo, al affrayt,

      Seand fatis contrar, eftir deth prayt:

      Scho irkit of hir lyfe, or to tak tent

      Forto behald the hevynnys firmament.

      Tharfor, in takyn hir purpos to fulfill,

      And leif the lycht of lyfe, as was hyr will,

      As on the altaris