The Mouss and the Paddock

Upon a tyme, as Esope can report,
A littill Mouss came till a rever syd;
Scho mycht nocht waid, hir schankis wer so schort
Scho culd nocht sowme, scho had na hors till ryd:
Of verry forss behuvit hir to byd,
And to and fra besyde that rever deip
Scho ran, cryand with mony peteuss peip.

" Help our, help our," the silly Mouss can cry,
" For Godis lufe, sum body, our this bryme."
With that a Paddok in the wattir by,
Put up hir heid, and on the bank can clyme,
Quhilk be natur culd dowk, and gaylie swyme;
With voce full rawk, scho said on this maneir:
" Gud morne, deme Mouss, quhat is your erand heir? "

" Seis thow," quod scho, " of corne yone joly flat,
Of ryp aitis, of beir, of peiss, and quheit?
I am hungry, and fane wald be thairat,
Bot I am stoppit heir be this wattir greit;
And on this syd I get na thing till eit
Bot hard nutis, quhilk with my teith I bore.
War I beyond, my feist wer fer the more.

I haif na boit; heir is no marineir;
And thocht thair ware, I haif na fraucht to pay."
Quod scho: " Sistir, lat be your havy cheir;
Do my counsall, and I sail fynd the way
Withouttin horss, brig, boit, or yit gallay,
To bring yow our saifly — be nocht afeird! —
And nocht to weit the campis of your beird."

" I haif mervell than," quod the silly Mouss,
" How thow can fleit without feddir or fyn.
The rever is sa deip and dangerouss,
Me think that thow suld drownit be thairin.
Tell me, thairfor, quhat faculty or gyn
Thow hes to bring me our this wattir wan."
That to declair the Paddok thus began:

" With my twa feit," quod scho, " lukkin and braid,
Insteid of airis, I row the streme full still:
Suppoiss the bruk be perrellus to waid,
Baith to and fra I swyme at my awin will.
I may nocht droun, for-quhy mine oppin gill
Devoydis ay the wattir I resaif;
Thairfor to droun forsuth na dreid I haif."

The Mouss beheld onto hir fronsyt face,
Her runkillit cheikis, and hir lippis syd,
Hir hyngand browis, and hir voce sa hace,
Hir logrand leggis, and hir harsky hyd.
Scho ran abak, and on the Paddok cryd:
" Gife I can any skeill of phisnomy,
Thow hes sum pairte of fraud and als invy.

" For clerkis sayis the inclinatioun
Of manis thocht proceidis commounly
Eftir the corporall complexioun
Till gud or yll, as natur will apply:
A frawart will, a thrawin phisnomy.
The auld proverb is witness of this lorum:
' Distortum vultwn sequitur distortio morum.'' "

" Na," quod the Taid, " that proverb is nocht trew:
For fair thingis oft tymes ar foull fakin.
Thir bla berryis, thocht thay be blak of hew,
Ar gaddrit up quhen prymross is forsakin.
The face may faill to be the hairtis takin.
Thairfoir I fynd in Scriptour in a place:
' Thou suld nocht juge a man eftir his face.

" Thocht I unlusty be to luk upone,
I haif no wyt quhy I suld lakkit be;
War I als fare as joli Absalone
I am nocht causar of that grit bewte.
This differens in forme and qualite
Almychty God hes causit dame Nature
To prent and set in every creature.

" Of sum the face may be rycht flurisand,
With silkin tong and cheir most amorous,
With mynd inconstant, fals, and variand,
Full of dissait and menis cautelous."
"Lat be thy preching," quod the hungry Mouss,
" And be quhat craft, thow gar me undirstand,
Thow wald me gyd onto yone yondir land.'"

" Thow wait," quod scho, " a body that hes neid
To help thame selff suld mony wayis cast;
Thairfoir ga tak a double twynnit threid,
And bind thi leg to myne with knotis fast.
I sail the leir to swyme — be nocht agast! "
" Is that thi counsale? " quod the silly Mouss;
" To preif that play it wer our perrellous.

" Suld I be bund and fast quhair I am fre,
In howp of help, nay than I schrew us baith,
For I mycht lois baith lyfe and libertie.
Gife it wer sa, quha mycht amend my skaith?
Bot gife thow sweir to me the murthour aith,
But fraud or gyle, to bring me our this flude
But hurt or harme " Quod scho, " in faith I dude."

Scho golkit up, and to the hevin can cry:
" How, Jupiter, of natur God and King,
I mak ane aith to the trewly, that I
This little Mouss sail our the wattir bring.'''
This aith was maid; this Mouss, but persaving
Of fals ingyne of this fals crabit taid,
Tuk threid and band hir leg, as scho hir bad.

Than fute for fute thay lap baith in the brime;
Bot in thair myndis thay wer rycht different:
The Mouss thocht na thing bot to fleit and swyme,
The Paddok for to slay set hir intent.
Quhen thay in mydwart of the streme wer went,
With all hir forss the Paddok dowkit doun,
And thocht the Mouss without mercy to droun.

Persevand this, the Mouss on hir gan cry:
" Tratour to God, and mansworne onto me,
Thow swoir the murthour aith, saifly that I,
But harme or hurt, suld ferreid be and fre; "
And quhen scho saw thair wass bot do or dy,
Scho bowtit up and foirsit hir to swyme,
And preisit on the Taidis bak to clyme.

The dreid of deid hir strenthis gave incress,
And forcit hir defend with mycht and mane.
The Mouss up wart, the Paddok doun can press;
Quhile to, quhile fra, quhile dowk, quhile up agane.
This silly Mouss, plungit into grit pane,
Can fecht als lang as breth wes in hir breist,
Till at the last scho cryit for a preist.

Fechtand thus-gait, a gled sat on a twist,
And to this wrechit battell tuk gud heid;
And with a wisk, or outher of thame wist,
He claucht his cluke betwene thame in the threid;
Syne to the land he flew with thame gud speid,
Fane of that fang, pypand with mony pew;
Syne lowsit thame, and bayth but pety slew.

Syne bowellit thame, that bowchir with his bill,
And bellyflaucht full fetly he thame flaid;
Bot baith thair flesche wald skant be half a fill,
And gutis als, unto that gredy gled.
Of thair debait thus quhen I hard out red,
He tuk his flicht, and our the feildis he flaw;
Gife this be trew, speir ye at thame that saw.

Moralitas

My brother, gif thow will tak advertens
Till this fable, thow may persaif and se,
It passis far alkynd of pestilens,
A wickit mynd with wirdis fair and sle.
Be war thairfor, quhome with thow fellowis the;
For thow war bettir beir the stane barrow,
Of sweitand ding, and delffe quhill thow may die,
Na be machit with a wicket marrow.

A fals intent undir a fare pretence
Hes causit mony innocentis to de,
Grit folly is thairfoir to gife credence
Our sone to all that speikis fair to the.
A silkin tong, a haift of crewelte,
Smytis mair soir than ony schot of arrow.
Brudir, gif thou be wyise, I rid the fle
To mache the with a frawart, fenyeit marrow.

I warne the als, it'is grit negligence
To bind the fast quhair thow was frank a<nd fre;
Fra thow be bund, thow may mak na defens
To saif thy lyfe, nor yit thy libertie.
This semple counsale, Bruder, tak at me,
And it to cun perquir se nocht thow tarrow;
Bettir but stryfe to leif allone in le
Than to be machit with a wicket marrow.

This hald in mynd: yit moir I sail the tell
Quhat by thir beistis may be figurat.
This Paddok, usand in this flud to dwell,
Is manis body, sumand air and kit
Into this warld, with cairis implicat,
Now he, now law, quhyle plungit up and doun,
Ay in perrell, and redy for to droun.

Now dolorus, now blyth as bird on breir;
Now in fredome, now wardit in distress;
Now haill, now sound, now deid, now brocht on beir;
Now pure as Job, now rowand in richess;
Now gowins gay, now brattis to imbrass;
Now full as fysche, now hungry as a hound;
Now on the quheill, now wappit to the ground.

This littill Mouss, thus knet hard be the schin,
The saule of man betakin may indeid;
Bundin, and fra the body may nocht twin,
Quhill crewall deid cum brek of lyfe the threid;
The quhilk to droun suld evir stand in dreid
Of carnall lust be the suggestioun,
Quhilk drawis ay the saule, and haldis doun.

The wattir is the warld, ay walterand
With mony wayis of tribulatioun,
In quhilk the saule and body ay waverand
Standis distinyt in thair opinioun;
The spreit upwart, the body preissis doun:
The natur of the saule wald our be borne
Out of this warld unto the hevinly trone.

The gled is deid, that cumis suddanly,
As dois the theif, and endis this battell.
Be vigilant thairfoir and ay reddy,
For manis lyfe is brukle and mortall:
My Friend, thairfoir, make the a Strang castell
Of gud deidis; for deid will the assay,
Thow wait nocht quhen, at evin, morne, or midday.

Adew, my Friend; an gife that ony speiris
Of this fable so schortly I conclude,
Thow say, I left the laif onto the freiris,
To mak a sample or similtude.
Now Chryst for us that deit on the Rud,
Of saule and lyfe as Thow art Salviour,
Grant us to pass in till a blissit hour.