Orpheus and Eurydice

The nobilnes and gret magnificence
Of prince or lord quha list to magnify,
His gret ancestry and lineall discence
Suld first extoll, and his genology,
So that his harte he mycht inclyne tharby
The mor to vertew and to wurthyness,
Herand reherss his eldaris gentilness.

Yt is contrair the lawis of natur
A gentill man to be degenerat,
Nocht following of his progenitour
The worthy reule, and the lordly estate;
A ryall rink for to be rusticat
Is bot a monstour in comparisoun,
Had in dispyt and foule derisioun.

I say this be the gret lordis of Grewe,
Quhilkis set thar hart, and all thair hale curage
Thar faderis steppis justlie to persewe,
Eking the worschipe of thair hie lynage:
The ancient and sad wyse men of age
War tendouris to the younge and insolent
To mak thaim in all vertew excellent.

Lyke as a strand of watter or a spring
Haldis the sapour of his fontale well,
So did in Grece ilk lord and worthy King,
Of forbearis thai tuke carage and smell
Amangis the quhilkis of ane I think to tell;
But first his gentill generacioun
I sail reherss, with your correctioun.

Apon the montane of Elicounee,
The most famouss of all Arabia
A goddes dwelt, excellent of bewte,
Gentill of blude, callit Memoria;
Quhilk Jupiter, that god to wyf can ta,
And carnaly hir knewe, quhilk eftir syne
Apon a day, bair him fair douchteris nyne.

The first in Grewe was callit Euterpe,
In our langage gud delictacioun;
The secound maide namyt Melpomene
As hony sweit in modulacioun:
Tersicor, quhilk is gud instructioun
Of every thing, the thrid sister, i-wiss,
Thus out of Grewe in Latyne translat is;

Caliope, that madyn mervalous,
The ferd sister, of all musik maistress,
And moder to the King Schir Orpheus,
Quhilk throw his wyf wes efter King of Trace;
Cleo, the fyft, that now is a goddess,
In Latyne callit Meditacioun,
Of every thing that has creacioun.

The sext lady was callit Herato,
Quhilk drawis lyke to lyke in every thing;
The sevynt lady was fair Pollyrayo,
Quhilk coude a thousand sangis swetly syng;
Thelya syne, quhilk can our sawlis bring
To profound wit and gret agilite,
To understand and have capacite.

Uranya, the nynt and last of all,
In our langage, quha could it wele expound,
Is callit Armony Celestiall,
Rejoicing men with melody and sound.
Amang thir nyne Caliope was crownd,
And maid a quene be mychti god Phebus,
Of quhom he gat this prince Schir Orpheus.

No wounder is, thocht he was fair and wise,
Gentill and full of liberalite,
His fader a god, his progenitrys
A goddess, fyndar of all armonye:
Quhen he was borne, scho set him on hir kne,
And gart him sowke of hir twa palpis quhyte
The sweit licour of all musik perfyte.

Incressand sone to manheid up he drew,
Of statur large, and frely fair of face;
His noble fame so far it sprang and grewe,
Till at the last the mychti Quene of Trace
Excelland fair, haboundand in richess,
Ane message send unto this prince so ying,
Requyrand him to wed hir, and be king.

Euridices that lady had to name.
Quhen that scho saw this prince so glorius,
Hir erand to propone scho thocht no schame,
With wordis sweit and blenkis amorous,
Said, " Welcome, lord and luf, Schir Orpheus,
In this province ye sail be king and lord! "
Thai kissit syne, and thus war at accord.

Betwene Orpheus and fair Euridices,
Fra thai war weddit, on fra day to day,
The lowe of luf couth kendill and encres,
With myrth, blythness, gret plesans, and gret play
Of warldlie joy; allace! quhat sail we say?
Lyke till a flour that pleasandly will spring,
Quhilk fadis sone, and endis with murnyng!

I say this be Euridices the Quene,
Quhilk walkit furth in till a Maij mornyng,
And with a madin in a medow grene,
To tak the air, and se the flouris spring;
Quhar in a schawe, ner by this lady ying,
A bustuos herd, callit Arystyus,
Kepand his beistis, lay under a buss.

And quhen he saw this lady solitar,
Barfute, with schankis quhytar than the snaw,
Prikkit with lust, he thocht withoutin mar
Hir till oppress, and till hir can he draw;
Dredand for scaith scho fled, quhen scho him saw;
And as scho ran, all bairfut, in ane buss
Scho tram pit on a serpent vennomuss.

This cruell vennome was so penitryf,
As natur is of all mortall poisoun,
In pecis small this Quenis hart couth ryfe,
And scho anone fell in a dedly swoun.
Seand this caiss, Proserpyne maid hir boun,
Quhilk clepit is the Goddes Infermall,
And till hir court this gentill Quene couth call.

And quhen scho vanyst was and unvisible,
Hir madin wepit with a wofull cheir,
Cryand with mony schout and voce terrible,
Till at the last Schir Orpheus couth heir,
And of hir cry the cause than can he speir.
Scho said, " Allace! Euridices, your Quene,
Is with the fary tane befor myne ene."

This noble King inflammit all in ire,
And rampand as ane lyoun ravenus,
With awfull luke and eyne glowand as fire,
Speris the maner, and the maid said thus:
" Scho trampit on a serpent vennomouss,
And fell in swoun; with that the Quene of fary
Claucht hir up sone, and furth-with hir can cary."

Quhen scho had said, the King sichit full sore,
His hert ner birst for verray dule and wo;
Half out of mynd, he made na tary more,
But tuke his harp, and to the wod can go,
Wryngand his handis, walkand to and fro,
Quhile he mycht stand, syne sat doun on a stone
And to his harp thusgate he maid his mone:

" dulfull harp, with mony dolly stryng,
Turne all thy mirth and musik in murnyng,
And cese of all thi subtell sangis sweit;
Now wepe with me, thy lord and cairfull Kyng,
Quhilk losit has in erd all his lyking;
And all thi game thow change in gule, and greit;
Thy goldin pynnis with thi teris weit,
And all my pane for to report thow press,
Cryand with me, in every steid and streit,
" Quhar art thow gane, my luf Euridices? "

Him to rejoise yit playit he a spryng,
Quhill all the foulis of the wod can syng,
And treis dansit with thair leves grene,
Him to devoid of his gret womenting;
Bot all in vane, that wailyeit him na thing;
His hart was sa upon his lusty Quene;
The bludy teres sprang out of his ene,
Thar was na solace mycht his sobbing cese,
Bot cryit aye, with caris cald and kene,
" Quhar art thow gane, my luf Euridices?

"Fair weill my place, fair wele plesance and play,
And welcome woddis wyld, and wilsome way,
My wikit werd in wilderness to wair;
My rob ryall, and all my riche array,
Chaungit sail be in rude russat of gray,
My diademe in till ane hat of hair;
My bed sail be with bever, broke, and bair,
In buskis bene with mony bustuoss bess,
Withoutin sang, saying with siching sair,
' Quhar art thow gane, my luf Euridices? '

" I the beseike, my fair fader Phebus,
Have pete of thi awne sone Orpheus;
Wait thow nocht wele I am thi barne and child?
Now heir my plant, panefull and petuouss:
Direct me fra this deid sa doloruss,
Quhilk gois thus withoutin gilt begild;
Lat nocht thy face with clowdis be oursyld;
Len me thi licht, and lat me nocht ga less,
To fynd the fair in fame that never was fyld,
My lady Quene and luf, Euridices.

" O Jupiter, thow god celestiall,
And grantschir to my-self, on the I call
To mend my murnyng and my drery mone;
Thow gif me forse, that I nocht fant nor fall,
Quhill I hir fynd; for seik hir suth I sail,
And nother stynt nor stand for stole nor stone,
Throw thi godhead gyde me quhar scho is gone,
Gar hir appeir, and put myne hert in pess."
Thus King Orpheus, with his harpe allone,
Sore wepit for his wyf Euridices.

Quhen endit wer thir sangis lamentable,
He tuke his harp, and on his brest can hyng,
Syne passit to the hevin, as sayis the fable,
To seik his wyf, bot that velyeid na thing:
By Wadlyng Streit he went but tarying,
Syne come doune throw the spheir of Saturn aid
Quhilk fader is of all thir sternis cald.

Quhen scho was soucht throw that cald regioun,
To Jupiter, his grantschir, can he wend,
Quhilk rewit sair his lamentacioun
And gart his spheir be soucht fra end to end;
Scho was nocht there; than doun he can discend
To Mars, the god of batall and of stryf,
And socht his spheir, yit gat he nocht his wyf.

Syne went he doun to his fader Phebus,
God of the Son, with beraes bricht and cleir;
Bot quhen he saw his awin son Orpheus
In sic a plyte, it changit all his cheir.
He gart anone go seik throw all his spheir;
Bot all in vane, that lady come nocht thare:
Than tuke he leif and to Venus can fare.

Quhen he hir saw, he knelit and said thus:
" Wait ye nocht weil I am your awne trew knycht?
In luf nane lelar than Schir Orpheus;
And ye of luf goddess, and most of mycht,
Of my lady helpe me to get a sicht."
"For suth," quod scho, "ye mon seik nethir- mair."
Than fra Venus he tuke his lef but mair.

To Mercury but tary is he gone,
Quhilk callit is the god of eloquens;
Bot of his wyf thare knawlege gat he none.
With wofull hart he passit doune fro thens;
Unto the Mone he maid na residens:
Thus fra the hevin he went doun to the erd,
Yit be the way sum melody he lerd.

In his passage amang the planetis all
He herd ane hevinlie melody and sound,
Passing all instrumentis musicall,
Causit be rolling of the spheris round;
Quhilk armony throw all this mapamond,
Quhill moving cese, unite perpetuall,
Quhilk of this warld Pluto the saull can call.

Thar leirit he tonys proportionate,
As dupler, tripler and emetricus,
Enoleus, and eike the quadruplate,
Epodyus richt hard and curious;
And of thir sex, swet and delicious,
Richt consonant five hevinly symphonys
Componit ar, as clerkis can devys.

First diatesseroun, full sweit, i-wiss,
And diapasoun, symple and duplate,
And diapente, componit with a diss:
This makis five of thre multiplicat:
This mery musik and mellifluat,
Complete and full with noumeris od and evyn,
Is causit be the moving of the hevin.

Of sic musik to wryte I do bot dote,
Tharfor at this mater a stra I lay,
For in my lyf I couth nevir syng a note;
Bot I will tell how Orpheus tuke the way,
To seike his wyf attour the gravis gray,
Hungry and cald, our mony wilsom wane,
Withoutin gyde, he and his harp allane.

He passit furth the space of twenty dayis
Fer and full fer, and ferrer than I can tell,
And ay he fand stretis and redy wayis;
Till at the last unto the yet of hell
He come, and thare he fand a portare fell,
With thre hedis, was callit Cerberus,
A hound of hell, a monstour mervalous.

Than Orpheus began to be agast,
Quhen he beheld that ugly hellis hound;
He tuke his harpe, and on it playit fast,
Till at the last throw swetness of the sound,
The dog slepit and fell unto the ground;
And Orpheus attour his wame in stall,
And neddirmair he went, as ye heir sail.

Than come he till a ryver wounder depe,
Our it a brig, and on it sisteris thre,
Quhilk had the entre of the brig to kepe,
Alecto, Megera, and Thesphonee,
Tornand a quheile was uglie for to se,
And on it spred a man hecht Ixioun,
Rollit about richt wounder wo begone.

Than Orpheus playit a joly spring,
The thre sisteris full fast thai fell on slepe,
The uglye quheile cessit of hir quhirling;
Thus left was nane the entre for to kepe.
Than Ixioun out of the quhele can crepe,
And stall away; than Orpheus anone,
Without stopping, attour the brig is gone.

Syne come he till a wounder grysly flude,
Droubly and depe, that rathly doun can ryn,
Quhare Tantalus nakit full thristy stude,
And yit the wattir stud above his chyn;
Thocht he gapit, thar wald na drop cum in;
Quhen he dowkit, the wattir wald discend;
Thus gat he nocht his thrist to slake nor mend.

Before his face ane apill hang also,
Fast at his mouth, apon a tolter threid;
Quhen he gapit, it rokkit to and fro,
And fled, as it refusit him to feid.
Than Orpheus had reuth of his gret neid,
Tuke owt his harpe, and fast on it can clynk:
The wattir stude, and Tantalus gat a drink.

Syne our a mure, with thornis thik and scharp,
Weping allone, a wilsome way he went;
And had nocht bene throw suffrage of his harp,
With scharpe pykis he had bene schorn and schent;
And as he blent, besyd him on the bent
He saw speldit a wounder wofull wicht,
Nalit full fast, and Theseus he hicht.

And on his brest thar sat ane grysly grype,
Quhilk with his bill his baly throw can bore,
Baith maw, mydred, hart, lever, and tripe,
He ruggit out — his panys wer the more.
Quhen Orpheus saw him thus suffer sore,
Has tane his harpe and maid sweit melody —
The grype is fled, Theseus left his cry.

Beyond this mure he fand a ferefull strete,
Mirk as the nycht, to pass richt dangerous,
For slidderiness scant mycht he hald his feit,
In quhilk thar was ane stynk richt odious,
That gydit him to hidowiss hellis house,
Quhar Rodomantus and Proserpina
War King and Quene; Orpheus in can ga.

O dolly place, and groundless depe dungeoun!
Furness of fyre, with stynk intollerable,
Pit of dispair, without remissioun,
Thy meit vennom, thy drink is poysonable,
Thy gret panis to compt innomerable;
Quhat creatur cummis to duell in the
Is aye deand, and nevir more may de!

Thar fand he mony carefull kyng and quene,
With crowne on hed, of brass full hate birnand,
Quhilk in thar lyf richt masterfull had bene,
Conquerouris of gold, richess, and land.
Hector of Troye, and Pryame, thar he fand;
And Alexander, for his wrang conqueist;
Antiochus als, for his foule incest;

And Julius Cesar for his cruelte,
And Herod with his brotheris wyf he saw;
And Nero for his gret iniquite;
And Pylat for his breking of the law;
Syne efter that he lukit, and couth knawe
Cresus the King, non mychtiare on mold
For covatise, yet full of birnand gold.

Thar fand he Pharo for oppressioun
Of Godis folk, on quhilk the plagis fell;
And Saul eke, for the gret abusioun
Of justice to the folk of Israeli;
Thar fand he Acab and quene Iesabell,
Quhilk sely Nabot, that was a prophet trewe,
For his wyne-yard withoutin pete slew.

Thar fand he mony pope and cardinal,
In haly Kirk quhilk did abusioun,
And bischopis in .thar pontificall,
Be symony for wrang intrusioun;
Abbotis and all men of religioun,
For evill disponyng of thar place and rent,
In flam of fyre war bittirly torment.

Syne neddirmair he went quhar Pluto was,
And Proserpyne, and thiddirwart he drewe, .
Aye playand on his harpe as he couth pass;
Till at the last Euridices he knewe,
Lene and dedlyke, petouss and pale of hewe,
Richt warsche and wan, and wallowit as a weid,
Hir lely lyre was lyke unto the leid.

Quod he, " My lady leil, and my delyte,
Ful wa is me till se yow changit thus;
Quhar is thi rude as rose with cheikis quhyte,
Thy cri stall eyne with blenkis amoruss,
Thy lippis red to kiss delicious? "
Quod scho: " As now I dar nocht tell, perfay;
Bot ye sail wit the cause ane othir day."

Quod Pluto, " Schir, thocht scho be lyke ane elf,
Scho hes na cause to plenye, and for quhy?
Scho fairis als wele daly as dois my self,
Or King Herod for all his chevalry;
It is langour that putis hir in sic ply;
War scho at home in hir cuntre of Trace,
Scho wald refet full sone in fax and face."

Than Orpheus befor Pluto sat doune,
In to his handis quhyte his harp can ta,
And playit mony sweit proporcioun,
With base tonys in ypodorica;
With gemynyng in ypolirica;
Til at the last for reuth and gret pete
Thai wepit sore, that couth him heir or se.

Than Proserpyne and Pluto bad him ass
His warisoun; and he wald ask richt nocht
Bot licence with his wyf away to pass
Till his countre, that he so fer had socht.
Quod Proserpyne, " Sen I hir hiddir brocht,
We sail nocht part bot with condicioun."
Quod he, " Tharto I mak promissioun."

" Euridices than be the hand thow tak,
And pass thi way, bot undirneth this pane:
Gif thow tornes or blenkis behynd thi bak,
We sail hir have for evir till hell agane."
Thocht this was hard, yit Orpheus was fane,
And on thai went, talkand of play and sport,
Quhill thai allmast come to the outwart port.

Thus Orpheus with inwart luf replet,
So blyndit was with gret affectioun,
Pensyf apon his wyf and lady sweit,
Rememberit nocht his hard condicioun.
Quhat will ye more? in schort conclusioun,
He blent bakwart, and Pluto come anone,
And unto hell agane with hir is gone.

Allace! it was rycht gret hert-sair to heir
Of Orpheus the weping and the wo,
Quhen that his wyf, quhilk he had bocht so deir,
Bot for a luke so sone was hynt him fro.
Flatlyngis he fell, and mycht no forther go,
And lay a quhyle in swoun and extasy;
Quhen he ourcome, thus owt on luf can cry:

" Quhat art thow, Luf, how sail I the diffyne?
Bittir and sweit, cruell and merciable,
Plesand to sum, till uthir playnt and pyne,
Till sum constant, till uthir variable;
Hard is thi law, thi bandis unbrekable;
Quha servis the, thocht he be never so trewe,
Perchance sum tyme he sail have caus to rew.

" Now fynd I weile, this proverb trewe," quod he,
' Hart on the hurd, and handis on the sore;
Quhar luf gois, on forss mone torne the e; '
I am expert, and wo is me therfore;
Bot for a luke my Lady is forlore.
Thus chydand on with luf, our burn and bent,
A wofull wedaw hamewart is he went.

Moralitas

Lo, worthy folke, Boece, that senatur,
To wryte this faynit fable tuke in cure,
In his gay buke of Consolacioun,
For our doctryne and gud instructioun;
Quhilk in the self, suppose it fenyeit be,
And hid under the oloke of poecy,
Yit Master Trewit, Doctor Nycholas,
Quhilk in his tyme a noble theologe was,
Applyis it to gud moralite,
Richt full of frut and seriosite.
Fair Phebus is the god of sapiens;
Caliope, his wyf, is eloquens;
Thir twa maryt gat Orpheus belyf,
Quhilk callit is the pairt intellectif
Of mannis saull, in undirstanding fre,
And separate fra sensualite.
Euridices is our affectioun,
Be fantasye oft movit up and doun;
Quhilis to resoun it castis the delyte,
Quhilis to the flesche it settis the appetite.
Arystyus, this herd that couth persew
Eurydices, is nocht bot gud vertew,
Quhilk besy is aye to kepe our myndis clene;
Bot quhen we fle out throw the medow grene
Fra vertew, to this warldis vane plesans,
Mengit with cair and full of varians
The serpentis stang, that is the dedly syn
That poysonis the saule without and in;
Than is it deid, and eik oppressit doun
To warldly lust all our affectioun.
Than perfyte resoun wepis wounder sair,
Seand thusgate our appetit misfair;
And to the hevin passis up belyf,
Schawand till ws the lyf contemplatif,
The parfyt will and alse the fervent luf
We suld have allway to the hevin abuf;
Bot seldyn thar our appetit is fund,
It is so fast in to the body bund;
Tharfor downwart we cast our myndis e,
Blyndit with lust, and may nocht upwart fle;
Suld our desyre be soucht up in the spheris,
Quhen it is tedderit on this warldis breris,
Quhile on the flesche, quhile on this warldis wrak;
And to the hevin full small entent we tak.
Schir Orpheus, thow seikis all in vane
Thy wyf so hie; therfor cum doune agane,
And pass unto yone monstour mervalus,
With thre hedis, that we call Cerberus,
Quhilk feynit is to haf sa mony heidis,
For to betakin thre maner of deidis.
The first is in the tendir young barnage,
The second deid is in the myddle age,
The thrid is in gret eld quhen men ar tane.
Thus Cerberus to swelly sparis nane,
Bot quhen that ressoun and intelligens
Playis apon the harpe of eloquens,
That is to saye, makis persuasioun
To draw our will and our affectioun,
In every eild, fra syn and foule delyte,
The dog na power hes our saull to byte.
The secound monstouris ar the Sisteris thre,
Alecto, Megera and Thesiphonee,
Ar nocht ellis, in bukis as we reid,
Bot wikit thocht, ill word, and frawerd deid.
Alecto is the bolnyng of the hart,
Megera is the wikit word outwart,
Thesiphonee is operacioun,
That makis fynale execucioun
Of dedly syn; and thir thre tornes aye
The uglye quheil, is nocht ellis to say,
That warldlie men sumtyme ar cassyn hie
Apon the quhele, in gret prosperite,
And with a quhirll, unwarly, or thai wait,
Ar thrawin doun to pure and law estaite.
Of Ixioun that on the quhele was spred,
I sail the tell sum part, as I have red:
He was on lyf broukle and lichorus,
And in that craft hardy and coragious,
That he wald nocht luf in na lawar place
Bot Juno, Quene of natur and goddace.
And on a day he went up in the sky,
Sekand Juno, thinkand with hir to ly:
Scho saw him cum and knew his foull entent.
A rany clud doun fra the firmament
Scho gart discend, and kest betwene thaim two;
And in that clud his natur yeid him fro,
Of quhilk was generit the Centauriss,
Half man, half horse, apon a ferly wyss.
Than for the inwart crabbing and offence
That Juno tuke for his gret violence,
Scho send him doune unto the Sisteris thre,
Apon thar quhele ay tomed for to be.
Bot quhen that ressoun and intelligens
Playis apon the harp of consciens,
And persuadis our fleschly appetyte
To leif the thocht of this warldly delyte,
Than seissis of our hert the wicket will,
Fra frawart language than the tong is still,
Our synfull deidis fallis doun on sleip,
Than Ixione out of the quheill can creip;
That is to say, the gret solicitud,
Quhile up, quhile doun, to wyn this warldis gud,
Cessis furthwith, and our affectioun
Waxis quyet in contemplacioun.
This Tantalus, quhome I spak of air,
Quhill he levit, was a gay hostillar,
And on a nycht come travelland tharby
The god of riches, and tuke herbery
With Tantalus; and he to the supere
Slewe his awne sone, that was him leif and deir,
Syne in a sowe, with spycis soddyn wele,
He gart the god eit up his flesche ilk dele.
For this dispyte, quhen he was deid anone,
Was dampnit in the flude of Acheron,
To suffer hunger, thrist, nakit and cald,
Richt wo begone, as I before have tald.
This hungry man and thristy, Tantalus,
Betakinnis men gredy and covatus,
The god of riches that ar ay redy
For to resaif, and call in herbery;
And to thaim seeth thair sone in pecis small,
That is thair flesche and blud, with gret trawall,
To fill the bag, and nevir fynd in thair hart
Apon thaim self to spend, nor tak thair part.
Allace, in erd quhar is thair mar foly,
Than for to want, and have haboundantly,
To have distress on bed, and bak, and burd,
And spair till uther men of gold a hurde?
And in the nycht slepe soundly may thai nocht,
To gadder geir sa gredy is thair thocht.
Bot quhen that ressoun and intelligens
Playis apon the harp of eloquens,
Schawand to us quhat perrell on ilk syd
That thai incur quhay will trest or confyd
Into this warldis vane prosperitie,
Quhilk hes thir sory properteis thre —
That is to say, gottin with gret laubour
Kepit dreid, and tynt is with dolour.
This avarice, be grace quha understud,
I trow suld leve thair gret sollicitud,
And ythand thochtis, and thair besyness
To gadder gold and syne leif in distress;
Bot he suld eit and drink quhenevir him list
Of covatus, and slake the birnand thrist.
This Prometheus lay nailit on the bent,
And with the grype his bowallis revyn and rent,
Quhill he levit, set his ententioun
To fynd the craft of divinatioun,
And lerit it unto the spamen all
To tell before sic thingis as wald befall,
Quhat lyf, quhat deid, quhat destany and werd,
Provydit war to every man in erd.
Appollo than for his abusioun,
Quhilk is the god of divinatioun,
For he usurpit in his faculte,
Put him till hell, and thar renianis he.
Ilk man that heiris this conclusion,
Suld dreid to serss be constillatioun
Thingis to fall undir the firmament
Till ye or na quhilk ar indefferent,
Without profixit cause and certane,
Quhilk nane in erd may knaw bot God allane.
Quhen Orpheus upoun his harp can play,
That is our undirstanding for to say,
Cryis, O man! recleme thi folich harte,
Will thow be God and tak on the His parte?
To tell thingis to cum that nevir wil be
Quhilk God hes kepit in His prevetie?
Thow ma no mair offend to God of micht,
Na with thi spaying reif fra Him His richt;
This perfyte wisdome with his melody
Fleis the spreit of fenyeid profecy,
And drawis upwart our affectioun.
Fra wichcraft, spaying, and sorsery,
And superstitioun of astrology,
Saif allanerly sic maner of thingis
Quhilk upoun trew and certane causis hingis,
The quhilk mone cum to thair caus indure,
On verry forse, and nocht throw avanture,
As is the clippis and the conjunctioun
Of sone and mone be calculatioun,
The quhilk ar fundin in trew astronomy,
Be moving of the spheiris in the sky;
All thir to speik it may be tollerable,
And none udir quhilk no causis stable.
This ugly way, this myrk and dully streit,
Is nocht ellis bot blinding of the spreit
With myrk cluddis and myst of ignorance,
Affetterrit in this warldis vane plesance,
And bissines of temporalitie;
To kene the self a styme it may nocht se,
Bot stammeris on eftir effectioun.
Fra ill to war ale thus to hele gois doun;
That is wanhowp throw lang hanting of syn,
And foull dispair that mony fallis in.
Than Orpheus our ressoun is full wo,
And twichis on his harp and biddis ho
Till our desyre and fulich appetyte,
Bidis leif this warldis full delyte.
Than Pluto, god and quene of hellis fyre,
Mone grant on forse to ressoun the desyre.
Bot Orpheus has wone Euridices,
Quhen our desyre with resoun makis pese
And sekis up to contemplacioun,
Of syn detestand the abusioun.
Bot ilk man suld be war, and wysly se
That he bakwart cast nocht his myndis e,
Gevand consent, and dilectacioun,
Of warldlie lust for the affectioun;
For thane gois bakwart to the syn agane
Our appetit, as it befor was slane
In warldlie lust and sensualite,
And makis resoun wedow for to be.
Now pray we God sen our affectioun
Is allway prompt and redy to fall doun,
That He wald helpe us with His haly hand
Of manteinans, and gif us grace to stand
In parfyte luf, as He is glorius.
And thus endis the Tale of Orpheus.