JOHN BELLENDEN. [578]

Previous

Last in the list of makars enumerated by Lyndsay in the prologue to his “Complaynt of the Papyngo” is mentioned “ane plant of poeitis, callit Ballendyne,” who seems to have excited both respect and anticipation among his early contemporaries. The prophecy of Lyndsay’s lines appears to have been more than fulfilled. The new makar of 1530, having gained the ear of the court, not only wrote poems which, whether they excelled those of his rivals or not, have at least outlived most of them, but produced works in prose regarding which a critic of the first rank has said, “No better specimen of the middle period (of the Scottish language) in its classical purity exists.”[579]

Some obscurity has been cast upon the life of this scholar and poet by confusing him with an eminent contemporary of the same name, Sir John Bellenden of Auchinoul. The latter was secretary to the Earl of Angus at the time of that nobleman’s downfall in 1528, appearing twice before parliament as agent for the Douglases on the 4th of September. Some time afterwards he became Justice-Clerk.[580] These functions of Bellenden the lawyer have been attributed, however incongruously, to Bellenden the churchman, and have again and again led to a hopeless confusion of parentage and other details. As a matter of fact the Justice-Clerk seems to have survived the poet by more than twenty-seven years.[581]

Of the poet’s life few facts are known with certainty. Born towards the close of the fifteenth century, he is believed to have been a native of Haddingtonshire, and to have entered St. Andrew’s University in 1508. At least the matriculation of one John Ballentyn of the Lothian nation is recorded in that year. He completed his education at the University of Paris, where he took the degree of Doctor of Divinity. From the fourth stanza of his proheme to the CosmographÉ, and from the prose epistle to James V. at the close of his translation of Boece’s History, it is gathered that, returning to this country, he was employed at court during that monarch’s youth as Clerk of Accounts, but was presently cast from his post by certain court intrigues. His loss of place probably coincided with that of Sir David Lyndsay, and was probably owed to the same cause, the seizure of power by the Douglases in 1524. It seems clear, moreover, that it was upon the downfall of that house that he returned to court favour; and circumstances would lead to the belief that he was among those for whom James, mindful of early services, made provision shortly after his accession to power in 1528. At anyrate, in 1530 and the three following years Bellenden was engaged by express command of James in translating the histories of his contemporary Boece and of Livy. The Treasurer’s accounts from October 30th, 1530, to November 30th, 1533, contain notes of payment for this work. In all, he received during that time the sum of £114; £78 being for the translation of Boece, and £36 for that of Livy.

A year or two later, during the vacancy of the bishopric of Moray, the archdeaconry of that see also became vacant, and its gift in consequence fell to the crown. Two clergymen, however, John Duncan, parson of Glasgow, and Alexander Harvey, solicited the Pope to confer the benefice upon James Douglas. For this they were brought to trial, and, by the statutes under which Gavin Douglas had suffered, were declared rebels, and had their property escheated to the king. The emoluments of this property for the years 1536 and 1537 were conferred successively upon Bellenden, who for the two years’ income paid compositions respectively of 350 marks and £300 Scots. About the same time, it is believed, occurred his promotion to the archdeaconry itself, and his appointment as a canon of Ross.

Little more is known of the poet’s life. A strenuous opponent of the new heresy, as the movement of the Reformation was called, he appears to have done all in his power to resist its progress, and at last, finding his utmost efforts in this direction vain, to have betaken himself to the headquarters of counsel at Rome, where he died in 1550.[582]

The catalogue of Bellenden’s works, though important in more than one detail, is not of great length. He is said to have written a treatise, De Litera PythagorÆ—the letter upsilon, in the form of which Pythagoras had chosen to see certain emblematical properties. Of this treatise nothing is now known. It is to his translations of Boece and Livy that the Archdeacon of Moray owes his chief fame. The first edition of the Latin History of Scotland by Hector Boece, consisting of seventeen books, had been printed at Paris in 1526, and dedicated to James V.[583] That king’s knowledge of Latin must have been strictly limited, as we know from Lyndsay he was withdrawn from school at twelve years of age. His desire, therefore, for a translation into the vernacular may be understood. Bellenden’s translation, with Boece’s “cosmographÉ,” or description of Scotland, prefixed, was published at Edinburgh in 1541,[584] and has the credit of being the earliest existing prose work in the Scottish language. The translator divided Boece’s books into chapters, and, from a reference in his proheme, apparently meant to bring the history down to his own time. As a translation the work is somewhat free, Bellenden having taken the liberty of correcting errors and supplying omissions where he thought right. Nevertheless it soon became the standard translation of the historian, and was the version which, with interpolations from the histories of Major, Lesley, and Buchanan, was used by Hollinshed, being the direct channel, therefore, through which Shakespeare derived the story of Macbeth. As a contribution to literature it remains the earliest and the most ample specimen we possess of Scottish prose. “Rich,” as its latest editor has said, “in barbaric pearl and gold,” while “the rust of age has not obscured the fancy and imagery with which the work abounds,” it affords an admirable illustration of the force and variety of the language in which it was written.

At the end of his translation Bellenden appended an epistle to the king—one of these sound, if somewhat plain, admonitions which his courtiers apparently did not scruple to address to James the Fifth. It deals boldly with the distinction between a king and a tyrant, and does not hesitate to hold up by way of example the fate which has constantly overtaken the wickedness of princes.

The best edition of Bellenden’s Boece is that edited, with a biographical introduction by Thomas Maitland, Lord Dundrennan, and published at Edinburgh in two volumes, quarto, in 1821. The only edition of the Livy is one by the same editor, printed in 1822 from a manuscript in the Advocates’ Library. The translation extends only to the first five books of the original, though it was Bellenden’s intention to furnish a complete version of his author. The work actually done is characterised, like the translation of Boece, by great fluency and vividness, and a natural happiness of style.

But it is to Bellenden’s work as a poet that the chief consideration is here due. To each of his three translations he prefixed a poetical proheme, or preface, of some length; before the title-page of his Boece appears a quaint “Excusation of the Prentar” which must be attributed to him; and a separate poem of twenty-two stanzas by him, entitled “The Benner of Pietie, concerning the Incarnatioun of our Saluiour Chryst,” forms one of the duplicate articles in the Bannatyne MS., printed by the Hunterian Club, 1878–86.[585] These five compositions represent his entire poetical achievement so far as is known. Though printed each in its due place, as above indicated, they have never been collected in a single volume.[586]

Bellenden’s chief poem is the proheme to the cosmographÉ prefixed to his translation of Boece. It bears no real relation to the work which it precedes, and is believed to have been written before 1530. Modelled upon the classical allegory of the “Choice of Hercules,” it is addressed to James V., and with great tact seeks to convey a somewhat pertinent moral lesson to that youthful monarch. The original title of the composition is understood to have been “Virtew and Vyce”; and after the poetic fashion of its time the allegory is cast in form of a dream. It describes the wooing of a handsome young prince, whose personality can hardly be mistaken, by two lovely and splendidly attired ladies, Delight and Virtue. With quaint shrewdness the poet contrives to awaken at the proper moment, saving himself the invidious task of describing the prince’s choice.

The proheme to the history is a graver and less poetical production, though bearing a closer relation to the work which follows. The chief object of history, it declares in effect, is to set forth the noble deeds of the past as an example to the present—a task performed with great array of classic information. The most striking passage of the poem is the descant on nobility, which occupies nine out of the twenty-nine stanzas. Some of the lines in this have all the incisiveness of the clearest-cut aphorism.

Somewhat the same theory of history forms the burden of the prologue to Livy. The chief interest of this piece consists, perhaps, as Lord Dundrennan pointed out, in its representation of James V. as a patron of literature. The opening stanzas, however, are not without a certain warlike resonance suited to a prelude of Roman deeds of arms.

Altogether, though not of the era-making order, and though comparatively limited in quantity, the poetry of Bellenden is worthy of more attention than it has hitherto received. In allegoric method and in form of verse it follows the fashion of its day, and it shares that fashion’s faults; but, these drawbacks apart, it is marked by great skill and smoothness of versification, by no small descriptive charm, and by a certain happy vividness of imagery which again and again surprises and delights the reader. One can almost feel the breath of

Notus brim, the wind meridiane,
With wingis donk, and pennis full of rane;

and a seascape rises instantly before the eye at mention of the

Carvell ticht, fast tending throw the se.

Beyond this, Bellenden shows himself a careful student of human nature, with more than one significant word to say upon the subject.

The Proheme of the CosmographÉ prefixed to Boece’s History.

Quhen silvir Diane, ful of bemis bricht,
Fra dirk[587] eclips wes past, this othir nicht,
And in the Crab, hir propir mansion, gane;
Artophilax contending at his micht
In the gret eist to set his visage richt,
I mene the ledar of the Charle-wane,
Abone[588] our heid wes the Ursis twane;
Quhen sterris small obscuris in our sicht
And Lucifer left twinkland him allane;
The frosty nicht with hir prolixit houris
Hir mantill quhit spred on the tender flouris;
Quhen ardent lauboure hes addressit me
Translait the story of our progenitouris,
Thair gret manheid, hie wisdome, and honouris;
Quhen we may cleir as in ane mirroure se
The furius end, sum-time, of tirannie,
Sum-time the glore of prudent governouris
Ilk stait apprisit[589] in thair faculte;
My wery spreit desiring to repres
My emptive pen of frutles besines,
Awalkit furth to tak the recent aire;
Quhen Priapus, with stormy weid oppres,
Raqueistit me in his maist tendernes
To rest ane quhile amid his gardingis bare.
Bot I no maner couth[590] my mind prepare
To set aside unplesand hevines,
On this and that contempling solitare.
And first occurrit to my remembring
How that I wes in service with the King,
Put to his Grace in yeris tenderest,
Clerk of his Comptis, thoucht I wes inding[591],
With hart and hand and every othir thing
That micht him pleis in ony maner best;
Quhill[592] hie invy me from his service kest
Be thaim that had the Court in governing,
As bird but plumes heryit[593] of the nest.
Our life, our giding, and our aventuris
Dependis from thir hevinlie creaturis
Apperandlie be sum necessite.
For thoucht[594] ane man wald set his besy curis[595],
So far as laboure and his wisdome furis,
To fle hard chance of infortunite;
Thoucht he eschew it with difficulte,
The cursit weird yit ithandlie enduris[596],
Gevin to him first in his nativitie.
Of erdlie[597] stait bewaling thus the chance,
Of fortoun gud I had na esperance.
So lang I swomit[598] in hir seis deip
That sad avising[599] with hir thochtful lance
Couth find na port to ankir hir firmance;
Quhill Morpheus, the drery god of sleip,
For very reuth did on my curis weip,
And set his sleuth[600] and deidly contenance
With snorand vanis throw my body creip.
Me-thocht I was in-to ane plesand meid,
Quhare Flora maid the tender blewmis spreid
Throw kindlie dew and humouris nutrative,
Quhen goldin Titan, with his flammis reid,
Abone the seis rasit up his heid,
Diffounding[601] down his heit restorative
To every frute that nature maid on live,
Quhilk wes afore in-to the winter deid,
For stormis cald and frostis penitrive[602].
Ane silver fontane sprang of watter cleir
In-to that place quhare I approchit neir,
Quhare I did sone espy ane fellown reird[603]
Of courtly gallandis in thair best maneir
Rejosing thaim in season of the yeir,
As it had bene of Mayis day the feird[604].
Thair gudlie havingis maid me nocht affeird;
With thaim I saw are crownit King appeir,
With tender downis rising on his beird.
Thir courtlie gallandis settand thair intentis
To sing, and play on divers instrumentis,
According to this Princis appetit;
Two plesand ladyis come pransand ouir the bentis[605];
Thair costlie clethin schew thair michty rentis[606].
Quhat hart micht wis, thay wantit nocht ane mit;
The rubeis schone apone thair fingaris quhit;
And finalie I knew, be thair consentis,
This ane Virtew, that other hecht[607] Delite.
Thir goddesses arrayit in this wise,
As reverence and honoure list devise,
Afore this Prince fell down apon thair kneis,
Syne dressit thaim in-to thair best avise[608],
So far as wisdome in thair power lyis,
To do the thing that micht him best appleis,
Quhare he rejosit in his hevinly gleis[609];
And him desirit, for his hie empryis[610],
Ane of thaim two unto his lady cheis[611].
And first Delite unto this Prince said thus,
“Maist vailyeant knicht, in dedis amorus,
And lustiest[612] that evir nature wrocht,
Quhilk[613] in the floure of youth mellifluus,
With notis sweit and sang melodius
Awalkis heir amang the flouris soft,
Thow hes no game bot in thy mery thocht.
My hevinly blis is so delicius,
All welth in erd[614], bot it, avalis nocht.
“Thoucht thow had France, and Italie also,
Spane, Inglande, Pole, with othir realmes mo,
Thoucht thow micht regne in stait maist glorius,
Thy pissant[615] kingdome is nocht worth ane stro
Gif it unto thy pleseir be ane fo,
Or trubill thy mind with curis dolorus.
Thair is na-thing may be so odius
To man, as leif[616] in miserie and wo,
Defraudand God of nature genius.
“Dres thÉ thairfore with all thy besy cure,
That thow in joy and pleseir may indure,
Be sicht of thir[617] four bodyis elementar;
Two hevy and grosse, and two ar licht and pure.
Thir elementis, be wirking of nature,
Douth change in othir; and thocht thay be richt far
Fra othir severit, with qualiteis contrar,
Of thaim ar maid all levand creature,
And finalie in thaim resolvit ar.
“The fire in air, the air in watter cleir,
In erd the watter turnis without weir[618],
The erd in watter turnis ouir agane,
So furth in ordour; na-thing consumis heir.
Ane man new borne beginnis to appeir
In othir figure than afore wes tane[619];
Quhen he is deid the mater dois remane,
Thoucht it resolve in-to sum new maneir;
No-thing new, nocht bot the forme is gane.
“Thus is no-thing in erd bot fugitive,
Passand and cumand be spreiding successive.
And as ane beist, so is ane man consave
Of seid infuse in membris genitive,
And furth his time in pleseir dois ouir-drive,
As chance him ledis, quhill he be laid in grave.
Thairfore thy hevin and pleseir now ressave
Quhill thow art heir in-to this present live;
For eftir deith thow sall na pleseir have.
“The rose, the lillyis, and the violet,
Unpullit, sone ar with the wind ouirset,
And fallis doun but[620] ony frut, I wis:
Thairfore I say, sen that no-thing may let[621],
Bot thy bricht hew mon[622] be with yeris fret[623],
(For every-thing bot for ane season is,)
Thow may nocht have ane more excellent blis
Than ly all nicht in-to min armis plet[624],
To hals and brais[625] with mony lusty kis,
“And have my tender body be thy side,
So propir, fet, quhilk nature hes provide
With every pleseir that thow may devine,
Ay quhill my tender yeris be ouir-slide.
Than gif it pleis that I thy bridill gide
Thow mon alway fra agit men decline;
Sine dres thy hart, thy curage, and ingine[626]
To suffir nane into thy hous abide
Bot gif thay will unto thy lust[627] incline.
“Gif thow desiris in the seis fleit[628]
Of hevinly blis, than me thy lady treit;
For it is said be clerkis of renoun
Thair is na pleseir in this eird so gret
As quhen ane luffar dois his lady meit,
To quikin his life of mony deidly swon.
As hiest pleseir but comparison
I sall thÉ geif, into thy yeris swete,
Ane lusty halk with mony plumis broun,
“Quhilk sal be found so joyus and plesant,
Gif thow unto hir mery flichtis hant[629],
Of every blis that may in erd appeir,
As hart will think, thow sall no plente want,
Quhill yeris swift, with quhelis properant[630],
Consume thy strenth and all thy bewte cleir.”
And quhen Delite had said on this maneir,
As rage of youtheid thocht maist relevant
Than Virtew said as ye sall eftir heir.
“My landis braid, with mony plentuus schire[631],
Sall gif thy Hienes, gif thou list desire,
Triumphant glore, hie honoure, fame devine,
With sic pissance that thaim na furius ire,
Nor werand[632] age, nor flame of birnand fire,
Nor bitter deith, may bring unto rewine.
Bot thow mon first insuffer mekill pine[633],
Abone thy-self that thow may have empire;
Than sall thy fame and honoure have na fine[634].
“My realme is set among my fois all;
Quhilkis hes with me ane weir[635] continewall,
And evir still dois on my bordour ly;
And, thoucht thay may no wayis me ouirthrall[636],
Thay ly in wait, gif ony chance may fall
Of me sum-time to get the victory.
Thus is my life ane ithand chevalry[637]:
Laubour me haldis strang as ony wall
And no-thing brekis[638] me bot slogardy.
“Na fortoun may aganis me availl
Thoucht scho with cludy stormis me assaill.
I brek the streme of scharp adversite.
In weddir louin[639], and maist tempestius haill,
But ony dreid, I beir ane equall saill,
My schip so strang that I may nevir de.
Wit, reason, manheid, governis me so hie,
No influence nor sterris may prevaill
To regne on me with infortunite.
“The rage of youtheid may nocht dantit be[640]
But gret distres and scharp adversite;
As be this reason is experience—
The finest gold or silver that we se
May nocht be wrocht to our utilite
But flammis kene and bitter violence.
The more distres the more intelligence.
Quhay salis lang in hie prosperitie
Ar sone ouirset be stormy violence.
“This fragill life, as moment induring,
But dout sall thÉ and every pepill bring
To sickir[641] blis or than eternal wo.
Gif thow be honest lauboure dois ane thing,
Thy panefull laubour sall vanes but tarying[642],
Howbeit thy honest werkis do nocht so.
Gif thow be lust dois ony thing also,
The schamefull deid, without dissevering,
Remanis ay, quhen pleseir is ago[643].
“As carvell ticht, fast tending throw the se,
Levis na prent amang the wallis hie;
As birdis swift, with mony besy plume,
Peirsis the aire, and wait[644] nocht quhare thay fle;
Siclik[645] our life, without activite,
Giffis na frut, howbeit ane schado blume.
Quhay dois thair life into this erd consume
Without virtew, thair fame and memorie
Sall vanis soner than the reky[646] fume.
“As watter purgis and makis bodyis fair,
As fire be nature ascendis in the aire
And purifyis with heitis vehement,
As floure dois smell, as frute is nurisare,
As precius balme revertis thingis sare[647]
And makis thaim of rot impacient,
As spice maist swete, as ros maist redolent,
As stern of day[648], be moving circulare,
Chasis the nicht with bemis resplendent;
“Siclik my werk perfitis[649] every wicht
In fervent luf of maist excellent licht,
And makis man into this erd but peir[650],
And dois the saule fra all corruptioun dicht[651]
With odoure dulce, and makis it more bricht
Than Diane full, or yit Appollo cleir,
Sine rasis it unto the hiest speir[652],
Immortaly to schine in Goddis sicht,
As chosin spous and creature most deir.
“This othir wenche, that clepit[653] is Delite,
Involvis man, be sensuall appetite,
In every kind of vice and miserie;
Becaus na wit nor reason is perfite
Quhan scho is gide, bot skaithis[654] infinite,
With doloure, schame, and urgent poverte.
For sche wes get of frothis of the see,
Quhilk signifies, hir pleseir vennomit
Is midlit[655] ay with scharp adversite.
“Duke Hanniball, as mony authouris wrait,
Throw Spanye come, be mony passage strait,
To Italy in furour bellicall[656];
Brak doun the wallis, and the montanis slait[657],
And to his army maid ane oppin gait,
And victoryis had on the Romanis all.
At Capua, be pleseir sensuall,
This Duk wes maid so soft and diligait[658]
That with his fois he wes sone ouirthrall.
“Of feirs Achill the weirlie[659] dedis sprang
In Troy and Grece quhill he in virtew rang[660];
How lust him slew it is bot reuth to heir.
Siclik the Trojanis, with thair knichtis strang
The vailyeant Grekis fra thair roumes dang[661],
Victoriuslie exercit mony yeir;
That nicht thay went to thair lust and pleseir
The fatall hors did throw thair wallis fang[662],
Quhais prignant sidis wer full of men of weir.
“Sardanapall, the prince effeminat,
Fra knichtlie dedis wes degenerat;
Twinand the thredis of the purpur lint
With fingaris soft, amang the ladyis sat,
And with his lust couth nocht be saciat,
Quhill of his fois come the bitter dint.
Quhat nobill men and ladyis hes bene tint[663]
Quhen thay with lustis wer intoxicat,
To schaw at lenth, my toung suld nevir stint[664].
“Thairfore Camil, the vailyeant chevaleir,
Quhen he the Gallis had dantit be his weir[665],
Of heritable landis wald have na recompence;
For, gif his barnis[666] and his freindis deir
Wer virtewis, thay couth nocht fail ilk yeir
To have ineuch be Romane providence;
Gif thay wer gevin to vice and insolence
It wes nocht neidfull for to conques geir[667]
To be occasioun of thair incontinence.
“Sum nobill men, as poetis list declare,
Wer deifeit[668], sum goddis of the aire,
Sum of the hevin, as Eolus, Vulcan,
Saturn, Mercury, Appollo, Jupitare,
Mars, Hercules, and othir men preclare[669],
That glore immortall in thair livis wan.
Quhy wer thir peple callit goddis than?
Becaus thay had ane virtew singulare,
Excellent, hie abone ingine[670] of man.
“And otheris ar in reik sulphurius;
As Ixion, and wery Sisiphus,
Eumenides the Furyis richt odibill,
The proud giandis, and thristy Tantalus;
With huglie[671] drink and fude most vennomus,
Quhare flammis bald and mirknes[672] ar sensibill.
Quhy ar thir folk in panis so terribill?
Becaus thay wer bot schrewis vicius
Into thair life, with dedis most horribill.
“And thoucht na frute wer eftir consequent
Of mortall life, bot for this warld present
Ilk man to have allanerlie[673] respect,
Yit virtew suld fra vice be different
As quik fra deid, as rich fra indigent.
That ane to glore and honour ay direct,
This othir, saule and body, to neclect;
That ane of reason most intelligent,
This othir of beistis following the affect.
“For he that nold[674] aganis his lustis strive,
Bot leiffis as beist of knawlege sensitive[675],
Eildis[676] richt fast, and deith him sone ouir-halis[677].
Thairfore the mule is of ane langar live
Than stonit hors; also the barant wive[678]
Apperis young quhen that the brudie falis[679].
We se also, quhen nature nocht prevalis,
The pane and dolour ar sa pungitive
No medicine the pacient avalis.
“Sen thow hes hard baith our intentis thus,
Cheis of us two the maist delitius;
First, to sustene ane scharp adversite,
Danting the rage of youtheid furius,
And sine posseid[680] triumphe innumerus,
With lang empire and hie felicite;
Or haif, ane moment, sensualite
Of fuliche youth, in life voluptuous,
And all thy dayis full of miserie.”
Be than, Phebus his firy cart did wry
Fra south to west, declinand besaly
To dip his steidis in the occeane,
Quhen he began ouirsile[681] his visage dry
With vapouris thik, and cloudis full of sky,
And Notus brim[682], the wind meridiane
With wingis donk and pennis full of rane,
Awalkenit me, that I micht nocht aspy
Quhilk of thaim two was to his lady tane.
Bot sone I knew thay war the goddesses
That come in sleip to vailyeant Hercules
Quhen he was young and fre of every lore
To lust or honour, poverte or riches,
Quhen he contempnit lust and idilnes
That he in virtew micht his life decore

From the Proheme to the Translation of Boece’s History.

For nobilnes sum-time the loving is[686],
That cumis be meritis of our eldaris gone.
As Aristotill writis in his Rethorikis,
Amang nobillis, quhay castin thaim repone[687]
Mon[688] dres thair life and dedis one be one
To mak thaim worthy to have memore
For honour to thair prince or nation,
To be in glore to thair posterite.
Ane-othir kind thair is of nobilnes
That cumis be infusion naturall,
And makis ane man sa full of gentilnes,
Sa curtes, plesand, and sa liberall,
That every man dois him ane nobill call.
The lion is sa nobill, as men tellis,
He cannot rage aganis the bestis small,
Bot on thaim quhilkis[689] his majeste rebellis.
The awfull[690] churle is of ane-othir strind[691].
Thoucht he be borne to vilest servitude
Thair may na gentrice[692] sink into his mind,
To help his friend or nichtbour with his gud.
The bludy wolf is of the samin stude[693];
He feris gret beistis and ragis on the small,
And leiffis in slauchter, tyranny, and blud,
But ony mercy, quhare he may ouirthrall[694].
This man is born ane nobill, thow will say,
And gevin to sleuth and lust immoderat:
All that his eldaris wan, he puttis away,
And fra thair virtew is degenerat;
The more his eldaris fame is elevat
The more thair life to honour to approche;
Thair fame and loving ay interminat,
The more is ay unto his vice reproche.
Amang the oist[695] of Grekis, as we hard,
Two knichtis war, Achilles and Tersete;
That ane maist vailyeand, this othir maist coward.
Better is to be, sayis Juvinall the poete,
Tersetis son, havand Achilles sprete,
With manly force his purpos to fulfill,
Than to be lord of every land and strete,
And syne maist cowart, cumin[696] of Achill.
Man, callit ay maist nobill creature,
Becaus his life maist reason dois assay,
Ay sekand honour with his besy cure[697],
And is na noble quhen honour is away.
Thairfore he is maist nobill man, thow say,
Of all estatis, under reverence,
That vailyeantly doith close the latter day,
Of native cuntre deand[698] in defence.
The glore of armis and of forcy dedis,[699]
Quhen thay ar worthy to be memoriall,
Na les be wit than manheid ay procedis.
As Plinius wrait in Story Naturall,
Ane herd of hertis is more strong at all,
Havand ane lion aganis the houndis foure,
Than herd of lionis arrayit in battall,
Havand ane hert to be thair governoure.
Quhen fers Achilles was be Paris slane,
Amang the Grekis began ane subtell plede,
Quhay was maist nobill and prudent capitane
Into his place and armour to succede;
Quhay couth[700] thaim best in every dangeir lede,
And sauf[701] thair honour as he did afore.
The vailyeant Ajax wan not for his manhede
Quhen wise Ulysses bure away the glore.
Manhede but prudence is ane fury blind,
And bringis ane man to schame and indegence.
Prudence but manhede cumis oft behind,
Howbeit it have na les intelligence
Of thingis to cum than gone, be sapience.
Thairfore quhen wit and manhede doith concurre
Hie honour risis with magnificence:
For glore to noblis is ane groundin spurre.

From the “Proloug apoun the Traduction of Titus Livius.”[702]

Armipotent lady, Bellona serene,
Goddes of wisdome and jeoperdyis of were[703],
Sister of Mars, and ledare of his rene.
And of his batallis awfull messingere!
Thy werelyke trumpett thounder in mine ere—
The horribill battellis and the bludy harmes—
To write of Romanis, the nobil men of armes.
And bricht Appollo with thy cours eterne,
That makis the frutis spring on every ground,
And with thy mychty influence dois governe
The twynkland sternes about the mappamound[704]!
Thy fyry visage on my vers diffound[705],
And quikin the spretis of my dull ingine[706]
With rutiland[707] beme of thy low[708] divine.
And ye my soverane be line continewall,
Ay cum of kingis your progenitouris,
And writis in ornate stile poeticall
Quik-flowand vers of rethorik cullouris,
Sa freschlie springand in youre lusty flouris
To the grete comforte of all trew Scottismen,
Be now my muse and ledare of my pen!
That be youre helpe and favoure gracius
I may be abill, as ye commandit me,
To follow the prince of storie, Livius,
Quhais curious ressouns tonit ar so hie.
And every sens sa full of majeste
That so he passes uther stories all,
As silver Diane dois the sternis[709] small.
For I intend of this difficill werk
To mak ane end or I my lauboure stint[710],
War not the passage and stremes ar sa stark[711],
Quhare I have salit, full of crag and clynt[712],
That ruddir and takillis of my schip ar tynt[713];
And thus my schip, without ye mak support
Wil peris lang or[714] it cum to the port.

Prefixed to the Translation of Boece’s History.

Ingyne[715] of man be inclinatioun
In sindry wyse is geuin, as we se.
Sum men ar geuin to detractioun,
Inuy, displeseir, or malancolie,
And to thair nychbouris hes no cherite.
Sum ar so nobill and full of gentilnes,
Thay luf no-thing bot joy and merynes.
Sum ar at vndir[716], and sum maid vp of nocht:
Sum men luffis peace, and sum desiris weir[717].
Sum is so blyth in-to his mery thocht
He curis[718] nocht, so he may perseueir
In grace and fauour of his lady deir.
Sum boldin[719] at othir in maist cruell feid[720],
With lance and dagar rynnis to the deid[721].
Ane hes that mycht ane hundreth weil sustene,
And leiffis[722] in wo and pennance at his table,
And of gud fallois comptis nocht ane bene[723];
His wrechit mynd is so insaciable;
As heuin and hell wer no-thing bot ane fable
He birnis ay, but sycht[724] to gud or euil,
And rynnis with all his baggis to the deuil.
And I the prentar, that dois considir weil
Thir sindry myndis of men in thair leuing[725],
Desiris nocht bot on my laubour leil[726]
That I mycht leif, and of my just wynnyng
Mycht first pleis God, and syne our noble Kyng,
And that ye reders bousum and attent[727]
Wer of my laubour and besynes content.
And in this wark, that I haue heir assailyeit
To bring to lycht, maist humely I exhort
Yow nobill reders, quhare that I haue failyeit
In letter, sillabe, poyntis lang or schort,
That ye will of your gentrice it support[728],
And tak the sentence[729] the best wyse ye may;
I sall do better, will God, ane-othir day.

The opening stanzas of “The Benner of Pietie.”

Quhen goldin Phebus movit fra the Ram
Into the Bull to mak his mansioun,
And hornit Dean in the Virgin cam
With visage paill in hir assentioun,
Approcheand to hir oppositioun;
Quhen donk Awrora with hir mistie schowris,
Fleand of skyis the bricht reflexioun,
Hir siluer teiris skalit[730] on the flouris;
The sesoun quhen the greit Octauian
Baith erd[731] and seis had in his gouernance
With diademe as roy Cesarian
In maist excellent honor and plesance,
With every gloir that micht his fame advance;
Quhen he the croun of hie triumphe had worne,
Be quhais peax and royell ordinance
The furious Mars wes blawin to the horne[732];
The samyne[733] tyme quhen God omnipotent
Beheld of man the greit callamitie,
And thocht the tyme wes than expedient
Man to redeme fra thrald captiuite,
And to reduce him to felicitie
With body and sawle to be glorificat
Quhilk wes condempnit in the lymb[734] to bie
Fra[735] he wes first in syn prevaricat;
Before the Fader, Mercye than appeiris
With flude of teris rainnand fra hir ene,
Said, “Man hes bene in hell fyve thowsand yeiris,
Sen he wes maid in feild of Damascene,
And cruwall tormentis dayly dois sustene
But ony confort, cryand for mercie.
How may thy grace nocht with thy pietie mene[736]
Off thy awin[737] werk the greit infirmitie?”
“And be the contrare,” then said Veretie,
“Thy word eterne but end is permanent,
Vnalterat, but mvtabilitie,
Withowttin slicht of ony argument;
Quhen Adame wes fund inobedient
In Paradice thruche his ambitioun,
Perpetualy, be richtous jugement,
Off thy blist visage tynt[738] fruisioun.”
Than Pece said, “Lord haif in thy memorie
That man, thy wark, was creat to that fyne[739],
That he micht haif perfyte felicitie
With thÉ aboif the hevynis cristellyne—
Quhilk Lucifer did thrwch his foly tyne—
Sumtyme maid to thy image worthiest:
It wes said than be prophecie devyne
That thow sowld sleip and in my bosom rest.”
And Justice said, “His odius offence
Contrare thy hie excellent dignitie,
His oppin syn and wilfull negligence,
Befoir thy sicht sowld mair aggregit[740] bie,
Sen thow art Alpha, O, and Veretie:
Be richtous dome, Adame and all his seid,
For tressone done agane thy maiestie,
Condempnit is to thoill[741] the bitter deid[742].”
Thir ladeis foure, contending beselie
With argumentis and mony strong repplyis,
Beffoir the blissit Fader equalie,
Sum for justice, and sum for mercie cryis.
The Fader wret ane sentence in this wyiss,
“For tressone done aganis oure maiestie,
The bittir deid salbe are sacrifyiss
The grit offence of man to satisfie.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Clyx.com


Top of Page
Top of Page