Classic Poem

The Prologe

14

Musing and marvelling on the miserie
Frome day to day in erth quhilk dois incres,
And of ilk stait the instabilitie
Proceding of the restles besynes,
Quhare on the most part doith thair mynd addres
Inordinatlie, on houngrye covatyce,
Vaine glore, dissait, and uthir sensuall vyce,

15

Bot tumlyng in my bed I mycht nocht lye.
Quhairfore I fuir furth in ane Maye mornyng,
Conforte to gett of my malancolye,
Sumquhat affore fresche Phebus uperysing,
Quhare I mycht heir the birdis sweitlie syng.
Intyll ane park I past, for my plesure,
Decorit weill be craft of dame Nature.

16

Quhow I ressavit confort naturall
For tyll discryve at lenth, it war to lang;
Smelling the holsum herbis medicinall,
Quhare on the dulce and balmy dew down dang,
Lyke aurient peirles on the twistis hang,
Or quhow that the aromatik odouris
Did proceid frome the tender fragrant flouris.

17

Or quhow Phebus, that king etheriall,
Swyftlie sprang up in to the orient,
Ascending in his throne imperiall,
Quhose brycht and buriall bemes resplendent
Illumynit all on to the occident,
Confortand everye corporall creature
Quhilk formit war, in erth, be dame Nature.

18

Quhose donke impurpurit vestiment nocturnall,
With his imbroudit mantyll matutyne,
He lefte in tyll his regioun aurorall
(Quhilk on hym watit quhen he did declyne
Towarte his occident palyce vespertyne)
And rose in habyte gaye and glorious,
Brychtar nor gold, or stonis precious.

19

Bot Synthea, the hornit nychtis quene,
Scho loste hir lycht and lede ane lawar saill
Frome tyme hir soverane lorde that scho had sene,
And in his presens waxit dirk and paill
And over hir visage kest ane mistye vaill.
So did Venus, the goddes amorous,
With Jupiter, Mars, and Mercurius;

20

Rychtso the auld intoxicat Saturne,
Persavyng Phebus powir his beymes brycht,
Abufe the erth than maid he no sudgeourne,
Bot suddandlye did lose his borrowit lycht
(Quhilk he durst nevir schaw bot on the nycht).
The Pole Artick, Ursis and sterris all,
Quhilk situate ar in the septemtrionall,

21

(Tyll errand schyppis quhilks ar the sover gyde,
Convoyand thame upone the stromye nycht),
Within thare frostie circle did thame hyde.
Howbeit that sterris have none uthir lycht
Bot the reflex of Phebus bemes brycht,
That day durst none in to the hevin appeir
Tyll he had circuit all our hemispeir.

22

Me thocht it was ane sycht celestiall
To sene Phebus so angellyke ascend
In tyll his fyrie chariot tryumphall,
Quhose bewte brycht I culd nocht comprehend.
All warldlie cure anone did fro me wend
Quhen fresche Flora spred furth hir tapestrie,
Wrocht, be dame Nature, quent and curiouslie,

23

Depaynt with mony hundreth hevinlie hewis,
Glaid of the rysing of thare royall roye,
With blomes breckand on the tender bewis,
Quhilk did provoke myne hart tyl natural joye.
Neptune, that day, and Eoll, held thame coye,
That men on far mycht heir the birdis sounde,
Quhose noyis did to the sterrye hevin redounde.

24

The plesand powne, prunyeand his feddrem fair,
The myrthfull maves maid gret melodie,
The lustye lark ascending in the air,
Numerand hir naturall notis craftelye;
The gay goldspink, the merll rycht myrralye,
The noyis of the nobyll nychtingalis
Redundit throuch the montans, meids, and valis.

25

Contempling this melodious armonye
(Quhow everilke bird drest thame for tyl advance
To saluss Nature with thare melodye),
That I stude gasing, halflingis in ane trance,
To heir thame mak thare naturall observance
So royallie that all the roches rang
Throuch repercussioun of thare suggurit sang.

26

I lose my tyme, allace, for to rehers
Sick unfrutful and vaine discriptioun;
Or wrytt, in to my raggit, rurall vers,
Mater without edificatioun,
Consydering quhow that myne intentioun
Bene tyll deplore the mortall misereis,
With continuall cairfull calamiteis,

27

Consisting in this wracheit vaill of sorrow.
Bot sad sentence sulde have ane sad indyte.
So termes brycht I lyste nocht for to borrow;
Of murnyng mater men hes no delyte.
With roustye termes tharefor wyl I wryte.
With sorrowful seychis ascending frome the splene
And bitter teris distellyng frome myne eine,

28

Withoute ony vaine invocatioun
To Minerva or to Melpominee,
Nor yitt wyll I mak supplicatioun
For help to Cleo, nor Caliopee —
Sick marde musis may mak me no supplee.
Proserpyne, I refuse, and Apollo,
And rycht so Euterp, Jupiter, and Juno,

29

Quhilkis bene to plesand poetis conforting.
Quharefor, because I am nocht one of tho,
I do desyre of thame no supporting.
For I did never sleip on Pernaso,
As did the poetis of lang tyme ago,
And speciallie the ornate Ennius;
Nor drank I never with Hysiodus,

30

Of Grece the perfyte poet soverane;
Of Hylicon, the sors of eloquence,
Of that mellifluus, famous, fresche fontane:
Quharefor, I awe to thame no reverence.
I purpose nocht to mak obedience
To sic mischeand musis, nor malmontrye
Afore tyme usit in to poetrye.

31

Raveand Rhammusia, goddes of dispyte,
Mycht be to me ane muse rycht convenabyll,
Gyff I desyrit sic help for tyll indyte
This murnyng mater, mad, and miserabyll.
I mon go seik ane muse more confortabyl
And sic vaine superstitioun to refuse,
Beseikand the gret God to be my muse,

32

Be quhose wysdome al maner of thing bene wrocht
(The heych hevinnis, with all thair ornamentis),
And without mater maid all thing of nocht,
Hell in myd centir of the elementis.
That hevinlye muse, to seik my hole intent is,
The quhilk gaif sapience to king Salomone,
To David grace, strenth to the strang Sampsone.

33

And of pure Peter maid ane prudent precheour,
And, be the power of his deitee,
Of creuell Paule he maid ane cunnyng techeour.
I mon beseik rycht lawly on my knee,
His heych superexcellent majestie,
That with his hevinlye spreit he me inspyre
To wrytt no thyng contrarye his disyre.

34

Beseikand als his soverane sonne, Jesu,
Quhilk wes consavit be the Holy Spreit,
Incarnat of the purifyit Virgin trew,
In to the quhome the prophicie was compleit.
That prince of peace moist humyll and mansweit,
Quhilk onder Pylate sufferit passioun
Upone the croce for our salvatioun.

35

And, be that creuell deith intollerabyll,
Lowsit we wer frome bandis of Balyall.
And mairattovir, it wes so profittabyll
That, to this hour, come nevir man nor sall
To the tryumphant joye imperiall
Of lyfe, quhowbeit that thay war never sa gude,
Bot be the vertew of that precious blude.

36

Quharefor, in steid of the Mont Pernaso,
Swyftlie I sall go seik my soverane.
To Mont Calvare the straucht waye mon I go,
To gett ane taist of that moist fresche fontane.
That sors to seik my hart may nocht refrane,
Of Hylicone, quhilk wes boith deip and wyde,
That Longeous did grave in tyll his syde.

37

From that fresche fontane sprang a famous flude,
Quhilk redolent rever throuch the warld yit rynnis,
As christall cleir and mixit bene with blude,
Quhose sound abufe the heyest hevinnis dinnis,
All faithfull peple purgeing frome thare synnis.
Quharefor, I sall beseik his excellence
To grant me grace, wysedome, and eloquence

38

And bayth me with those dulce and balmy strandis,
Quhilk on the croce did spedalie out spryng
Frome his moste tender feit, and hevinly handis,
And grant me grace to wrytt nor dyte no thyng
Bot tyll his heych honour, and loude lovyng;
But quhose support thare may na gude be wrocht
Tyll his plesure — gude workis, word, nor thocht.

39

Tharefor, O Lorde, I pray thy majestie,
As thou did schaw thy heych power divyne
First planelie in the Cane of Galelee,
Quhare thou convertit cauld watter in wyne,
Convoye my mater tyll ane fructuous fyne
And save my sayingis baith frome schame and syn.
Tak tent, for now I purpose to begyn.
Finis.
Heir endis the Prologe

And beginnis the Mater.