Читать книгу The Æneid of Virgil Translated Into Scottish Verse - Gawin Douglas - Страница 45

Bot than Ene half mad and dum stude als,

Vpstart his hair, the voce stak in his hals.

Sayr he langis to fle and to depart;

And that sweit cuntre, on the tother part,

To leif ful laith wes hym, or go at large.

Astonyst he wes to syt sa hie a charge,

Or dysobey the gret godis beheste.

Allace! quhat suld he do? oneth he wist;

Or with quhat wordis suld he now assay

The amorus queyn forto requir and pray,

Or on quhat wys hys taill he mycht begyn;

Baith to and fra compasyng, hys breist within,

Feill purpossys for euery part about.

And, at the last, thus as he stude in dout,

Thys resson hym semyt fynaly the best:

He callys to hym Mynestheus and Sergest,

And strang Cloanthus; and bad thai suld, in hy,

Do graith hys schyppys and navyn secretly,

And gaddir hys folkis towart the cost togydder;

Armour and al thyng necessar bring thyddir,

And to dissymyll, gif ony axit quhy

Thai thus addressyt thar geyr sa suddanly:

Hym self, he said, the meyn quhile, suld assay

To purches leif to pas and go away,

And wait hys tyme to speke tharof maist habill,

Quhen that the queyn Dido, maist honorabil,

Suld not beleif sa sone he kouth depart,

Nor sa gret luf dissyvir mycht be na art.

At hys command thai al glaidly furth went,

And bissely begouth speid hys entent.

Bot sone the queyn persavyt al the slycht:

Quhay may begile a luffar, day or nycht?

Thar departing at hand fyrst scho aspyis,

Dredyng all sovir thing, as is the gys

Of euery luffar al tyme to stand in feir.

This ilke cursyt Fame, we spak of eyr,

Bair to the amorus queyn noys, and gan rown,

The schippis ar grathand, to pas thai mak thaim boun.

Quharfor, inpacient, and myndles in hir rage,

Scho wyskis wild throu the town of Cartage;

Syk wys, as quhen thir nunnys of Bachus

Ruschis and relis our bankis, brays, and bus,

Quhen, euery thryd ȝeir, on thar payane gys,

Thar goddis feist thai hallow with lowd cryis,

That, al the nycht, the mont of Cytheron

Resoundis of thar clamour, quhar thai gone.

And at the last, ȝit thus, of hir fre will,

Eftir lang musyng, scho spak Eneas tyll:

With dissymulance wenyt thou, onfaithfull wight,

Thou mycht haue hyd fra me sa fals a slycht,

And, myne onwyttyng, steill furth of my land?

That nothir our gret lufe, promys, nor rycht hand

Gevyn me vmquhile, may the heir withhald,

Nor cruel deth of Didois cors so cald!

Gif thou depart, and forthir quhat wald thou do,

In wyntir sesson pres graith thi navy, lo!

And the addres to pas throu the wod see,

Myd tyme quhen stormys and wyndis blaw maist hie;

Art thou sa cruel? I put the cace, alsso,

That to nane onkouth landis the list go,

Nother to fremmyt place, nor stedis will,

Bot that auld Troy war ȝyt vpstandand still;

Aucht thou, ȝit than, leif this weilfair and joy,

And in sik perrell seik throu the sey to Troy?

Quhat! wilt thou fle from me? allace! allace!

Be all thir teris trygland our my face,

And be that rycht hand vmquhile thou me gave;

Sen to my self nocht ellis left I have,

Now wrachit catyve; be our treuth plychting eyk,

And be our spowsage begunnyn, I the beseik,

Gif euer ony thank I deservit towart the,

Or ocht of myne to the wes leif, quod sche,

Haue mercy of our lynnage reddy to spill;

Gif tyme remanys ȝit thou heir prayeris will,

This fremmyt mynd, I pray ȝou, do away.

For the I haue beyn hatyt, this mony a day,

With all the pepill of Affrik, and with the kyng

That rewlys the land of Numyda and ryng;

For the myne awyn Tyrianys ar with me wraith;

For the is womanheid went and wirschip baith,

And my first fame, lavd, and renownye,

Quharby I wes rasyt to the starnys hie.

Reddy to de, and my selvyn to spill,

My sweit gest, quhamto thou me leif will?

My gest, ha God! quhou al thyng now invane is,

Quhen of my spows nane othir name remanys!

Bot quharto suld I my ded langar delay?

Sal I abyde quhil thou be went away,

And quhil myne awyn brothir, Pigmaleon,

Bet down the wallis of my cite onon,

Or stern Hyarbas, kyng of Getule,

Led me away into captiuite?

Bot, at the leist, tofor thi wayfleyng,

Had I a child consavyt of thyne ofspryng,

Gif I had ony ȝong Eneas small,

Befor me forto play within my hall,

Quhilk representit by symylitude thi face;

Than semyt I nocht, thus wys, allace! allace!

Aluterly dissauyt nor dissolate.

Thus said the queyn Dido, in febil estate.

Bot, apon Jovis message fermly he

Stude musyng so, he movit nocht ane E;

Refrenyt his will, hydand in hart his thocht,

And, at the last, thir few wordis hes furth brocht:

O gentil queyn, that sall I nevir deny,

Thy gude deid and desart is mair worthy

Than thou with wordis or tong may expreme;

Nor it sal nevir me irk, na ȝit mysseym,

The worthy Dido to hald in fresch memory,

So lang as that my self remembir may I,

Or quhil the spreit of lyfe this body steris.

As the mater requiris, a litil heris:

I purposyt nocht forto hyde thyftuusly

My vayage, nor, as ȝe weyn, secretly

Away to steil; quhat nedis ȝou sa to feyn?

For I pretendit nevir, be na meyn,

With ȝou to mak the band of mariage,

Nor in that ȝok, ne frendschip in Cartage,

Ȝyt come I nevir: bot gif the fatis, but pled,

At my plesour sufferit me lyfe to led,

At my fre wil my warkis to modyfy,

The cite of Troy than first agane suld I

Restore, and of our deir frendis remanys

Gaddir togiddir, and to the venquist Troianys

Raparal with my handis agane thar wallis,

And beild vp Priamus palyce at now fallis.

Bot sen Appollo, clepit Gryneus,

Gret Italy to seik commandis ws,

To Itale eik oraclys of Lycia

Admonyst ws, but mair delay, to ga;

Thar is my lust now, and delyte at hand,

Thar is my cuntre, and my natyve land.

Gif the, of Cartage the burgh and towris swa,

Quhilk art a woman of Phenycia,

And the aspect of citeis Affricane

Delytis, and withhaldis heir to remane,

Quhat wrang is it, caus of envy or schame,

Thocht Troianys seik to Itale for thar hame?

Or is it nocht als lesum and ganand

That fynaly we seik to onkouth land?

Als oft as day is gone, and the dyrk nycht

With hir donk schaddow hydis of the erth the sycht,

Als oft as schynyng starnys doith vprys,

My faderis gost, Anchises, als feil sys

Into my sleip mannasis me tharto fast,

And oft his feirfull ymage doith me agast;

And, in lyke wys, the child Ascanyus,

Quhais deir hed suffir iniurys is hard to ws,

Quham of the realm of Itail I defraud,

And fra the grond to hym promyst withhawd.

Be athir of our hedis this I sweir;

Now laitly eik of goddis the messynger,

From hie Jupiter in hasty message sent,

Down throu the ayr brocht the ilk commandment:

On fair day lycht, myne awyn self dyd I se

Mercur, the God, entyr in this cite,

And his wordis with thir sam eris hard I.

With thy complayntis ony langar, forthy,

Lat be to vex me, or thy self to spyll,

Sen I seik nocht to Itale with fre will.