by Virgil
With bad, harsk spech and lewit barbour tong
Presume to write quhar thy sweit bell is rung
Or contyrfate sa precyus wordys deir?
Na, na, noth swa, but kneill quhen I thame heir.
For quhat compair betwix mydday and nycht?
Or quhat compair betwix myrknes and lycht?
Or quhat compar is betwix blak and quhyte?
Far grettar difference betwix my blunt endyte
And thy scharp sugurate sang Virgiliane,
Sa wysly wrocht with nevir a word invane.
My waverand wyt, my cunnyng febill at all,
My mynd mysty, thir may nocht myss a fall —
Stra for thys ignorant blabryng imperfyte
Besyde thy polyst termys redymyte.
And netheless with support and correctioun,
For naturall lufe and frendely affectioun
Quhilkis I beir to thy warkis and endyte —
All thocht God wait tharin I knaw full lyte —
And that thy facund sentence mycht be song
In our langage alsweill as Latyn tong —
Alsweill? na, na, impossibill war, per de —
it with thy leif, Virgile, to follow the,
I wald into my rurall wlgar gross
Wryte sum savoryng of thyne Eneados.
But sair I dreid forto disteyn the quyte
Throu my corruppit cadens imperfyte —
Disteyn the? nay forsuyth, that may I nocht;
Weill may I schaw my burall bustuus thocht
Bot thy wark sall endur in lawd and glory
But spot or falt condyng etern memory.
Thocht I offend, onwemmyt is thy fame;
Thyne is the thank and myne salbe the schame.
Quha may thy versis follow in all degre
In bewtie, sentence and in grauite?
Nane is, nor was, ne it salbe, trow I,
Had, hass or sal haue sic craft in poetry.
Of Helicon so drank thou dry the flude
That of thy copioss fouth or plenitude
All mon purches drynk at thy sugurit tun;
So lamp of day thou art and schynand son
All otheris on forss mon thar lycht beg or borrow;
Thou art Vesper and the day stern at morow,
Thow Phebus lightnar of the planetis all —
I not quhat dewly I the clepe sall,
For thou art all and sum, quhat nedis more,
Of Latyn poetis that sens was, or befor.
Of the writis Macrobius sans faill
In hys gret volume clepit Saturnaill.
Thy sawys in sic eloquens doith fleit,
So inuentive of rethorik flowris sweit
Thou art, and hass so hie profund sentens
Tharto, perfyte but ony indigens,
That na lovyngis ma do incress thy fame,
Nor na reproche dymynew thy gud name.
Bot sen I am compellit the to translait,
And not only of my curage, God wait,
Durst interpryd syk owtrageus foly,
Quhar I offend the less reprefe serve I;
And that e knaw at quhais instans I tuke
Forto translait this maist excellent buke,
I meyn Virgillis volume maist excellent,
Set this my wark full febill be of rent,
At the request of a lord of renown
Of ancistry nobill and illustir baroun,
Fader of bukis, protectour to sciens and lair,
My speciall gud Lord Henry, Lord Sanct Clair,
Quhilk with gret instance diuerss tymys seir
Prayt me translait Virgill or Homeir,
Quhais plesour suythly as I vndirstude
As neir coniunct to hys lordschip in blude
So that me thocht hys request ane command,
Half disparit this wark I tuke on hand
Nocht fully grantand nor anys sayand ee,
Bot only to assay quhou it mycht be.
Quha mycht gaynsay a lord so gentill and kynd
That euer had ony curtasy in thar mynd,
Quhilk besyde hys innatyve pollecy
Humanyte, curage, fredome and chevalry,
Bukis to recollect, to reid and se,
Hass gret delyte as euer had Ptholome?
Quharfor to hys nobilite and estait,
Quhat so it be, this buke I dedicait,
Writtin in the langage of Scottis natioun,
And thus I mak my protestatioun.
Fyrst I protest, beaw schirris, be our leif,
Beis weill avisit my wark or he repreif,
Consider it warly, reid oftar than anys;
Weill at a blenk sle poetry nocht tayn is,
And it forsuyth I set my bissy pane
As that I couth to mak it braid and plane,
Kepand na sudron bot our awyn langage,
And spekis as I lernyt quhen I was page.
Nor it sa cleyn all sudron I refuss,
Bot sum word I pronunce as nyghtbouris doys:
Lyke as in Latyn beyn Grew termys sum,
So me behufyt quhilum or than be dum
Sum bastard Latyn, French or Inglys oyss
Quhar scant was Scottis — I had nane other choys.
Nocht for our tong 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 ou note me nocht at euery word.
The worthy clerk hecht Lawrens of the Vaill,
Amang Latynys a gret patron sans faill,
Grantis quhen twelf heris he had beyn diligent
To study Virgill, skant knew quhat he ment.
Than thou or I, my frend, quhen we best weyn
To haue Virgile red, vnderstand and seyn,
The rycht sentens perchance is fer to seik.
This wark twelf heris first was in makyng eyk
And nocht correct quhen the poet gan decess;
Thus for small faltis, my wyss frend, hald thy pess.
Adherdand to my protestatioun,
Thocht Wilame Caxtoun, of Inglis natioun,
In proyss hes prent ane buke of Inglys gross,
Clepand it Virgill in Eneadoss,
Quhilk that he says of Franch he dyd translait,
It hass na thing ado tharwith, God wait,
Ne na mair lyke than the devill and Sanct Austyne.
Haue he na thank tharfor, bot loyss hys pyne,
So schamefully that story dyd pervert.
I red his wark with harmys at my hart,
That syk a buke but sentens or engyne
Suldbe intitillit eftir the poet dyvyne;
Hys 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 hass ourhippyt quyte
Salfand a litill twychyng Polidorus
And the tempest furth sent by Eolus,
And that full sempilly on hys awyn gyss;
Virgill thame wrait all on ane other wyss,
For Caxton puttis in hys buke owt 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 Bocass,
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,
That in the text of Virgill, trastis me,
The twelt part scars contenys, as e may se.
The fyfte buke of the festis funerall,
The lusty gamys and plays palustrall,
That is ourhippit quyte and left behynd —
Na thing tharof he sall in Caxtoun fynd.
The saxt buke eyk, he grantis, that wantis haill,
And, for tharof he vnderstude nocht the taill,
He callis it feneit and nocht forto beleif;
Sa is all Virgill perchans, for by hys leif
Iuno nor Venus goddessis neuer wer,
Mercur, Neptune, Mars nor Iupiter;
Of Fortune eik nor hir necessite,
Sik thingis nocht attentik ar, wait we,
Nor it admittis that quent philosophy
Haldis sawlys hoppys fra body to body,
And mony thingis quhilkis Virgill dyd reherss,
Thocht I thame write furthfollowand hys verss.
Nor Caxtoun schrynkis nocht siclyke thingis to tell
As nocht war fabill bot the passage to hell,
Bot trastis weill, quha that ilke saxt buke knew,
Virgill tharin ane hie philosophour hym schew,
And vnder the clowdis of dyrk poecy
Hyd lyis thar mony notabill history —
For so the poetis be the 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.
Thar 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 pass,
Quhilk is na gabbyng suythly nor na lie,
As Ihone Bocas in the Genealogie
Of Goddys declarys, and lyke as he may reid
In the Recolles of Troy quha lest tak hed.
Quha wait gyf he in visioun thydder went
By art magike, socery or enchantment,
And with hys fader sawle dyd speke and meyt,
Or in the lyknes with sum other spreit,
Lyke as the spreit of Samuell, I gess,
Raysit to Kyng Saul was by the Phitones?
I will nocht say all Virgill beyn als trew
Bot at syk thyngis ar possibill this I schew,
Als in tha days war ma illusionys
By dewillich warkis and coniurations
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, less than wyss authoris leyn,
Ene saw nevir Touyr with hys eyn,
For Touyr diuidis Grece from Vngary
And Tibir is cheif flude of Italy,
Touyr is kend a grayn of that ryver
In Latyn hecht Danubium or Hyster —
Of gyf it be Tanais he clepis sa,
That flude diuidis Europ from Asia.
In lyke wyss eik this Caxtoun all invane
Crispina clepis Sibilla Cumane,
That in the text of Virgill, trastis ws,
Hait Deiphebe douchtir of Glawcus,
Quhilk was Eneas convoyar to hell.
Quhat suld I langar on hys errouris dwell?
Thai beyn so playn and eik sa monyfald
The hundreth part tharof I leif ontald.
The last sax bukis of Virgill all inferis,
Quhilk contenys strang batalis and werys,
This ilk Caxtoun so blaitly lattis ourslip
I hald my tung for schame, bytand my lyp.
The gret afferis of athir host and array,
The armour of Eneas, fresch and gay,
The quent and curyus castis poeticall,
Perfyte symylitudis and exemplis all
Quharin Virgill beris the palm of lawd,
Caxtoun, for dreid thai suld hys lippis scald,
Durst nevir twich. Thus schortly for the nanys.
A twenty devill way fall hys wark atanys,
Quhilk is na mair lyke Virgill, dar I lay,
Than the nycht owle resemblis the papyngay.
Quharfor, ou gentill redaris, I besich
Traste on na wyss at this my wark be sich,
Quhilk dyd my best, as the wyt mycht atteyn,
Virgillis versys to follow and no thing feyn.
he worthy noblys, redis my wark for thy
And cast this other buke on syde far by,
Quhilk vndir cullour of sum strange Franch wycht
So Franchly leys, oneith twa wordis gais rycht.
I nold he trast I said this for dispyte,
For me lyst with nane Inglis bukis flyte,
Na with na bogill nor browny to debait,
Nowder ald gaistis nor spretis ded of lait,
Nor na man will I lakkyn nor dispyss
My warkis till authorys be sik wyss,
Bot twichyng Virgillis honour and reuerens,
Quha euer contrary, I mon stand at defens;
And bot my buke be fundyn worth sik thre
Quhen it is red, do warp it in the see,
Thraw it in the fyre or rent it euery crum.
Twichand that part, lo, heir is all and sum.
Syne I defend and forbiddis euery wight
That can nocht spell thar Pater Noster rycht
Fortill correct or it amend Virgill,
Or the translatar blame in hys wlgar stile;
I knaw quhat payn was to follow hym fut hait
Albeit thou think my sayng intricate.
Traste weill to follow a fixt sentens or mater
Is mair practike, deficill and far strater,
Thocht thyne engyne beyn eleuate and hie,
Than forto write all ways at liberte.
Gif I had nocht be to a boundis constrenyt,
Of my bad wyt perchance I couth haue fenyt
In ryme a ragment twyss als curyus,
Bot nocht be twenty part so sentencyus.
Quha is attachit ontill a staik, we se,
May go na ferthir bot wreil about that tre:
Rycht so am I to Virgillis text ybund,
I may nocht fle less than my falt be fund,
For thocht I wald transcend and go besyde,
Hys wark remanys, my schame I may nocht hyde.
And thus I am constrenyt als neir I may
To hald hys verss and go nane other way,
Less sum history, subtell word or the ryme
Causith me mak digressioun sum tyme.
So thocht in my translatioun eloquens skant is,
Na lusty cast of oratry Virgill wantis;
My studyus brayn to comprehend his sentens
Leit me nevir taist hys flude of eloquens.
And thus forsuyth becauss I was nocht fre,
My werk is mair obscur and gross per de,
Quharof, God wait, Virgill hass na wyte —
Thocht myne be blunt, hys text is maist perfyte.
And it persave I weill, be my consait
The kyng of poetis ganys nocht for rurall estait
Nor hys fresch memor for bowbardis; he or scho
Quha takis me nocht go quhar thai haue ado —
All thocht the bak hys brycht bemys doith fle.
Greyn gentill ingynys and breistis curageus,
Sik ar the pepill at ganys best for ws;
Our werk desiris na lewyt rebalddaill,
Full of nobilite is thistory all haill.
For euery vertu belangand a nobill man
This ornate poet bettir than ony can
Payntand discryvis in person of Eneas —
Not forto say sikane Eneas was
it than by hym perfytely blasons he
All wirschip, manhed and nobilite,
With euery bonte belangand a gentill wycht,
Ane prynce, ane conquerour or a valeand knycht.
In luffis cuyr eneuch heir sall he fynd,
And schortly Virgill left na thing behynd
That mycht hys volume illummyn or crafty mak.
Reid quha hym knawys, I dar this vndertak,
Als oft as e hym reid, full weill I wait,
he fynd ilke tyme sum mery new consait.
Thoght venerabill Chauser, principal poet but peir,
Hevynly trumpat, orlege and reguler,
In eloquens balmy, cundyt and dyall,
Mylky fontane, cleir strand and royss ryall,
Of fresch endyte, throu Albion iland braid,
In hys legend of notabill ladeis said
That he couth follow word by word Virgill,
Wisar than I may faill in lakar stile.
Sum tyme the text mon haue ane expositioun,
Sum tyme the collour will causs a litill additioun,
And sum tyme of a word I mon mak thre,
In witnes of this term “oppetere.”
Eik weill I wait syndry expositouris seir
Makis on a text sentens diuerss to heir,
As thame apperis, accordyng thar entent,
And for thar part schawis ressonys euident.
All this is ganand, I will weill it swa be,
Bot a sentens to follow may suffice me.
Sum tyme I follow the text als neir I may,
Sum tyme I am constrenyt ane other way.
Besyde Latyn our langage is imperfite
Quhilk in sum part is the causs and the wyte
Quhy that of Virgillis verss the ornate bewte
Intill our tung may nocht obseruyt be,
For thar be Latyn wordis mony ane
That in our leyd ganand translatioun hass nane
Less than we mynyss thar sentens and grauyte
And it scant weill exponyt. Quha trewys nocht me,
Lat thame interprit “animal” and “homo”
With many hundreth other termys mo
Quhilkis in our langage suythly as I weyn
Few men can tell me cleirly quhat thai meyn.
Betweyn “genus,” “sexus” and “species”
Diuersyte in our leid to seik I cess.
For “obiectum” or “subiectum” alsswa
He war expert couth fynd me termys twa,