_Fra that Dawnus his son Turnus saw ded,
Huge lamentatioun maid he in that sted._
Amyd all this deray and gret effeir, 15
Fame, of dyseys forrydar and messynger,
Com hurland with huge movyng fast to tovn,
And with large clamour fyllys inveroun
Thar myndis all; quhou ane ded corps new than
Was cumand at hand, with mony wofull man, 20
And Turnus lyfles laid with mortal wond,
In feld discomfist, slane, and brocht to grund.
Than euery wight, trublit and wobegone,
The blak blesand fyre brandis mony one,
As was the gys, hes hynt into thar handis;
Of schynand flammys glitteris all the landis:
Thus thai recuntyrrit thame that cumand weir, 5
And sammyn jonyt cumpaneis in feir.
Quham alsfast as the matronys gan espy,
Thai smait thar handis, and rasyt vp a cry,
That to the sternys went thar wofull beir.
Bot fra Dawnus the corps of hys son deir 10
Beheld, he gan stynt and arrest hys pais:
And syne, half deill enragit, in a rays,
With huge sorow smyte, in ruschis he
Amyd the rowt, that reuth was forto se,
And apon Turnus corps hym strekis doun, 15
Enbrasyng it ongrouf all in a swoun;
And, alsfast as he spek mycht, hes furth braid
With wordis lamentabill, and thus wys he said:
Son, the dyseys of thy fader thus drest,
And of my febill eild the reuthfull rest 20
Now me byreft, quhy hes thou so, allace!
Into sa gret perrellys and in sik cace
Me catchit thus, and dryve quhidder? quod he;
And vndir cruell bargan, as I may se,
Now fynaly thus venquyst and ourcum, 25
Quhar is thy worthy valour now becum?
Quhar hes the douchty constans of thy spreit
Me careit thus from rest and all quyet?
Is this the notabill honour and lovyng
Of thy manhed, and glory of thy ryng? 30
Is this the gret wyrschip of thyne empyre?
O my deir son, quhilum thou bald syre,
Bryngis thou ws hame sikkyn triumphe as this?
Is this the rest and eys thou dyd promys
To thy fader, sa tryst and wobegone, 5
And oft ourset with ennemys mony one?
Is this the meith, and finale term or end
Of all laubouris, as we desyrit and wend?
O ways me, wrachit and wofull wyght!
Quhou hastely doun fallyn from the hight 10
Thir slyddir warldly chancis dryvis fast!
With quhou gret fard ourrollyt and down cast
So hastely beyn thir fatis, behald!
He that was laitly sa stowt, heich, and bald,
Renownyt with gret honour of chevelry, 15
And haldyn gret throu owt all Italy,
Quham the Troianys sa awfull felt in armys,
And dred sa oft hys furour, wrocht thame harmys:
Myne awyn Turnus, lo now apon sik wys
Ane lamentabill and wofull corps thou lyis: 20
Now dum and spechles that hed liggis thar,
Quhilum in all Italy none sa fair,
Nor nane mair gracius into eloquens,
Nor nane so byg but harnes, nor at defens!
Son, quhar is now thy schynand lustyhed, 25
Thy fresch figour, thy vissage quhite and red,
Thy plesand bewte, and thyne eyn twane
With thar sweit blenkand lukis mony ane,
Thy gracyus glitterand semly nek lang,
Thy vocis sovn, quhilk as a trumpet rang? 30
The glor of Mars in batale or in stowr
Is conquest with sik aventouris sowr.
Had thou sic wyll thy selvyn to submyt
To fervent bargan, and to dedis byt,
Quhen thou departit of this sted fra me, 5
Forto return with sik pompe as we se?
O haitfull deth! that only, quhar thou lykis,
With thy revengeabill wapynnys sa sair strikis,
That thou thir prowd myndis brydill may;
To all pepill elyke and common ay 10
Thou haldis evyn and baris thi ceptre wand,
Eternaly observand thy cunnand,
Quhilk gret and small doun thryngis, and nane rakkis,
And stalwart folkis to febill equale makkis.
The common pepill with the capitanys, 15
And ȝouth and age assemblys baith attanys.
Allace, detestabill deth, dyrk and obscur!
Quhat chance onworthy or mysaventur
Hes the constrenyt my child me to byreif,
And with a cruell wond thus ded to leif? 20
O systir Amata, happy queyn, quod he,
Be glaid of sa thankfull chance hes hapnyt the,
And of thyne awyn slauchtir be blith in hart,
Quharby thou has sa gret dolour astart,
And fled sa huge occasions of myscheif, 25
Sa hard and chargeand huge wo and greif!
O Goddis abuf, quhat ettill ȝe mor to do
Onto me wrachit fader? sen ellys, lo,
My son ȝhe haue byreft, and Ardea
My cite, into flambis brynt, alssua 30
Consumyt is, and turnyt in assis red,
With weyngis fleys a fowle in euery sted.
Bot ha, Turnus! mar trist and wo am I
For thy maste petuus slauchter sa bludy:
Wantit this last myschance ȝit or sik thing 5
To thyne onweldy fader, auld Dawnus kyng.
Bot sikkyrly, with sic conditioun ay
Thir warldly thingis turnys and writhis away,
That quham the furyus fortoun lyst infest,
And eftir lang quyet bryng to onrest, 10
Brayand apon that catyve for the nanys,
With all hir fors assalȝeis scho attanys,
And, with all kynd of torment, in hir greif
Constrenys hym with stundys of myscheif.
This said he, wepand sadly, as man schent, 15
With large flude of teris hys face bysprent,
Drawand the sobbys hard and sychis smart,
Throw rageand dolour, deip owt from hys hart:
Lyke so as quhar Jovis byg fowle, the ern,
With hir strang tallonys and hir punsys stern 20
Lychtyng, had claucht the litill hynd calf ȝyng,
Torryng the skyn, and maid the blude owt spryng:
The moder, this behaldand, is all ourset
With sorow, for slauchter of hir tendir get.