The Trial of the Fox

This foirsaid Fox, thus deid for his misdede,
Had nocht a sone was gottin richteously,
That to his airschip mycht of law succede,
Except ane sone, the quhilk in lemanry
He gottin had in purchase prively.
And to his name was clepit Fader Were,
That luffit wele with pultry to tig and tere.

It followis wele be reasoun natural,
And gree be gree of rycht comparisoun,
Of ill cummys war, of war cummys warst of all,
Of wrangus get cummys wrang successioun.
This Fox, bastard of generatioun,
Of verry kynd behufit to be fals;
So was his grantschir and his fader als.

As nature will, sekand his fude be sent,
Of case he fand his faderis caryon,
Naikit, new slane; and till him as he went,
Tuke up his hede, syne on his kneis fell doun,
Thankand grete God of that conclusioun;
And said, " Now sail I brouk, sen I am aire,
The boundis quhare thow wes wont for to repaire."

Fy! covetous, unkynd and venemous,
The sone was fayn he fand his fader dede,
Be sudane schote for dedis odious,
That he micht rax and regne intill his stede,
Dredand nothing that samin lyife to lede,
In stouth and reif, as he had done before;
Bot to the end, entent he tuke no more.

Yit, nevirtheless, for naturall pitee,
The caryon upoun his bak he tais:
" Now find I wele this proverb trew," quod he,
" ' Ay rynnis the fox as lang as he fut hais.' "
Syne with his corse unto a petpot gais
Of watere full, and kest him in the depe,
And to the devill gave his banis to kepe.

O fuliche man! ploungit in warldlynes,
To conquest wrangwiss gudis, gold, or rent,
To put thy saule in payne and hevynes,
To riche thyne air, quhilk eftir thow be went,
Have he thy gude, he takis bot small entent
To sing or say for thy salvatioun:
Fra thow be dede, done is thy devotioun.

This Tod, to rest him, passit to a crag,
And herd a bustous bugill brymly blaw
Quhilk, as him thocht, maid all the warld to wag.
Than stert I up, and cumand nere I saw
Ane unicorne cum lansand our a law,
With home in hand, ane bill in brest he bure,
A pursevant semelie, I yow assure.

Unto a bank, quhair he mycht se about
On every syde, in haste he coud him hye,
Put furth his voce full loud, and gave a schout,
And " Oyas! Oyas! " twise or thrise coud cry.
With that the bestis in the fieldis nere by,
All mervailand quhat sic a cry suld mene,
Gowand agast, gadderit on a grene.

Out of his breist a bill sone coude he braide,
And red the text withouttyn tarrying;
Commaundand silence, sadly thus he said:
" We, noble Lyoun, of all beistis King,
Greting to God ay-lasting, but ending,
To brutall bestis and irrational,
I send, as to my subjectis grete and small.

" My Celsitude and Hie Magnificence,
Lattis yow to witt furthwith, incontinent
Thinkis to morne, with riall diligence
Upoun this hill to hald a parliament;
Straitly thairfore, I geve commandiment
For to compeir before my tribunal!,
Under all pane and parrell that may fall."

The morrow come, and Phebus with his bemys
Consumit had the mysty cloudis gray;
The ground was grene, and as the gold it glemys,
With gresis growand gudely, grete, and gay;
The spice than spred to spring on every spray;
The lark, the mavis, and the merle so hee,
Swetly can sing, trippand fra tree to tree.

Thre leopardis come; a crown of massy gold
Berand thai brocht unto that hillis hicht,
With jaspis junyt and riall rubies rold,
And mony divers dyamantis wele dicht;
With pollis proud a palyoun down thai picht;
And in that trone thair sat a wild lyoun,
In rob riale, with ceptur, swerd, and crown.

Eftir the tennour of the cry before,
That gais on all four-futtit bestis on erd
Jtycht as thai ware commandit without more,
Before thair Lord, the Lyon, thai comperd;
And quhat thai were, as Tod Laurence me lerd,
I sal reherse a pairt of every kynd,
Als far as now occurris to my mynd.

The Minotaur, a monster mervelous,
Bellerophant, that beist of bastarde,
The Warwolf, and the Pegase perillous,
Transformit be assent of sorcere,
The lynx, the tiger full of tyrrane,
The oliphant, and eik the dromedare,
The camell with his cran craig furth ould care.

The leopard, as I haif tauld beforne,
The antelop, the sparth furth culd hir speid,
The payntit panther, and the unicorne;
The rayndeir ran through rever, ron, and reid,
The joly jonet, and the gentill steid,
The aiss, the mull, the horse of every kynd;
The de, the re, the hornit hairt, the hynd.

The bull, the beir, the bugill, and the bair,
The wodwyse, wild cat, and the wild wolfyne,
The hard-bak, hurtchoun, and the hyrplland hair,
Baith ottour, aip, and pennyt porcupyne,
The guckit gait, the sillye scheip, the swyne,
The baver bakon, and the batterand brok,
The fumard, with the fyber furth culd flok.

The gray gruhund, the sleuth hund furth can slyd,
With doggis all dyverss and deferent;
The rattoun ran, the globert furth culd glyde,
The quherland quhithrat with the wasyll went,
The fythow that hes furrit mony fent,
The martryk, with the cunyng and the con,
The burdane lane, and eik the lerion.

The mermissat the modewart could leid,
Becaus that nature denyit had her sycht.
Thus dressit thai all furth for dreid of deid,
The musk, the litill mous, with all her mycht
In haist haykit unto that hillis hycht;
And mony kynd of beist I couth nocht knaw,
Befoir their Lord, the Lyoun, thai lowtit law.

Seand thir beistis all at his bidding bown,
He gave a oraide, and blenkit all about;
Than flatlingis to his feit thai fell all down,
For dreid of deid thay drowpit all in dout.
The Lyoun lukit quhen he saw thame lout,
And bad them, with ane countenance full sweit,
" Be nocht afferit, bot stand upoun your feit.

" I lat you wit my mycht is merceabill,
And steris none that ar to me prostrat,
Angry, austern, and als unameabill,
To all that standis aganis myne estait.
I rug, I ryve all beistis that makis debate
Aganis the mycht of my magnificence:
Se none pretend to pryde in my presence.

" My Celsitude and my Hie Majesty
With mycht and mercy myngit sal be ay;
The lawest heir I may rycht sone up hie,
And mak him maister ouer yow all I may.
The dromadair, gif he will mak deray,
Or the greit cameil, thocht thai be nevir sa crouse,
I can thame law as littil as ane mouse.

" Se neir be twenty mylis quhair I am,
The kid ga saiflie be the woolfis syde;
The Tod Lowry hike nocht upoun the lam,
Na revand beistis nowther ryn nor ryde."
Thay cucheit all; and, eftir this wes cryd,
The Justice bad anone the court to fenss,
The sutis call, and foirfalt all absenss.

The panther, with his payntit coit of armour,
Fensit the court, as of the law efferit;
Tod Laurence lukit up quhair he could lour,
And stert on fut, all stoneist, and all sterit;
Ryvand his hair, he'rarit with a reird,
Quakand for dreid, and sichand could he say.
" Allace this hour, allace this wofull day!

" I wait this suddan semblay that I se,
Havand the poyntss of a Parliament,
Is maid to mar sic misdoaris as me;
Thairfoir, and I me schaw, I wil be schent;
I will be socht gif I be red absent;
To byde or fle it makis no remeid;
All is alyke, thair followis nocht bot deid."

Perplexit thus in his mynd can he mene
With falsheid quhow he mycht himself de- fend;
His hude he drew far down attour his ene,
And, wynkand with the ane E, furth did wend;
Clyncheand he come, that he suld nocht be kend,
And for dreddour that he suld thole areist,
He playit bukhud anone, fra beist to beist.

O fylit spreit, and cankerit conscience!
Befoir ane roy renyeit with richteousnes,
Blakinnit cheikis and schamefull countenance!
Fairweill thy fame, now gone is all thy grace,
The phisnomie, the favour of thy face,
For thy defence is foull and disfigurate,
Brocht to the licht, baisit, blunt, and blait.

Be thow atteichit with thift or with tressone
For thy misdeid wrangous and wickit fay,
Thy cheir chaingis, Lowrence; thow man luik doun;
Thy worschip of this warld is went away.
Luk to this Tod, how he wes in effray,
And fle the filth of falset, I the reid,
Quhairthrow thair followis sin and schamefull deid.

Comperand thus thai come befoir the King,
In ordour sett as to thair stait efferit,
Of every kynd he gart ane pairt furth bring,
And awfulye he spak, and at thaim speirit
G-if thair wes ony beist into this erd
Absent, and thair-to gart thaim deiply sweir,
And thai said, " Nay, except ane gray stude Meir."

" Ga, mak ane message sone unto that stude."
The court than cryit, " My Lord, quha sail that be?"
" Cum heir, Lowry, lurkand undir thy hude."
" A, Lord! mercy! Lo, I have bot ane E;
Hurt in the hanch, and crukit ye may se;
The Wolf is bettir in ambassadry,
And mair cunning in clergy fer than I."

Braiding he said, "Ga furth, ye brybouris bayth!"
And thai to ga withoutin tareying.
Our ron and ryce thai ran togidder rayth,
And fand the Meir at meit in the morning.
" How," quod the Tod, " Madame cum to the King,
The court is callit, and ye ar contumax."
"Lat be, Laurence," quod scho, "your courtlie knax."

" Maistres," quod the Tod, " to the court ye mon;
The Lyoun hes commandit yow in-deid."
" Laurence, tak yow the flirdom, and the fon,
I have a respit heir, and ye will rede."
" I can nocht spell a word, sa God me speid!
Heir is the Wolf, a nobill clerk at all,
And of this message he is principall.

" He is autentik, and a man of aige,
And hes greit practik of the chancellary,
Lat him ga luke and reid your privilege,
And I sail stand, and beir yow witness by."
" Quhair is your respit? " quod the Wolf in
" Sir, it is heir, undir my hoife weill hid."
" Hald up your hele," quod he; and sa scho did.

Thocht he wes blynd throuch pryde, yit he pre- sumis
To luke doun law, quhair that thir lettres lay.
With that the Mere, scho gird him on the gumys,
And strake the hattrell of his hede away.
Half out of lyfe, lenand doun he lay:
" Alace," quod Lowrence, "Lupus, thow art lost!"
" His connyng," quod the Mere, " was worth sum cost.

" Lourans, will thou nocht luke upoun my letter,
Sen that the Wolf thairof can nothing win? "
" Nay, be Sanct Bryde," quod he, " mc think far better
To slepe in hele and in ane unhurt skyn.
A scroll I fand, and thus writtin thairin,
— ' For five schillingis I wald nocht anis forfault him'—
Felix quern facivmt aliena pericvla cautum."

With brokin skalp and bludy chekis rede,
This wretchit Wolf wepand on his wayis went,
Of this maynye mefkand to get remede;
To tell the King the caise was his entent,
"Schir," quod the Tod, "bid still upoun the bent,
And fra your browis wesch away the blude,
And tak a drink, for it will do yow gude.'"

To fech water this fraudfull Fox furth fure,
Sidlingis a bank he socht unto a sike;
Of caise he metis cumand fra the mure,
A trip of lambis dansand on a dike.
This traytor Tod, this tyran, and this tike,
The fattest of the flok he fellit has,
And ete his fill; syne to the Wolf he gais.

Thay drank but tary, and thare journay takis;
Befoir the King syne knelit on thair knee.
"Quhare is the Mere, Schir Tod, was contu- max?"
Than Lourance said: "My Lord, spere nocht at me!
This new maid Doctour of Divinitee,
With his rede cap, can tell you wele yneuch."
With that the Lyon and the lave thai leuch.

" Tell on the caise, Schir Lourence; lat us here."
" This witty Wolf, this noble clerk of aige,
On your behalf he bad the Mere compere,
And scho allegit till a previlege —
'Cum nere and se, and ye sail have your wage.'
Because he red hir respit plane and wele,
Yone red bannete scho raucht him with hir hele."

The Lyoun said, " Be yon rede cap I ken
This tale is trew, quha tent unto it takis;
The grettest clerkis ar nocht the wysest men;
A mannis hurt ane other happy makis."
As thai ware carpand thusgatis in knakis,
And all the court in garray and in gam,
Sa come the Yow, the moder of the Lam.

Before the Justice doun on hir kneis fell,
Put furth hir playnt on this wise wofully:
" This harlot here, this hurson hund of hell,
He werryit hes my Lam full doggitly,
Within a myle, in contrare of your cry.
For Goddis lufe, my Lord, gif me the law
Of this lymmar." With that Lourence let draw.

" Bide," quod the Lyon, " lemmar, lat us se
Giff this be suyth the sely Yow has said."
"A, Soverane Lord! sauf your mercy," quod he,
"My purpois was with him bot to have plaid;
Causeles he fled, as he had bene airraid;
For drede of dede he duschit our a dike,
And brak his nek." "Thou leis," quod scho, " fals tike!

" His dede be practik may be previt eth;
Thy gorry gomys and thy bludy snout,
The woll, the flesche yit stikkis in thy teth,
And this is evidence enuch, but dout."
The Justice bad go cheis ane assyia about;
And so thai did, and fand that he was fals,
Of murthour, thift, and party tresoun als.

Thai band him fast, the Justice bad belyve
To geve the dome, and tak of all his clais;
The Wolf, that new maid Doctour, coud him shryve;
Syne furth with him unto the gallowis gais,
And at the ledder fute his leve he tais;
The Ape was basare, and bad him sone ascend,
And hangit him; and thus he maid ane end.

Moralitas

Rycht as the mynour in his mynorall
Fair gold with fyr ma fra the lede wele wyn,
Rycht sa under a fable figurall
Sad sentence men may seke, and efter fyne,
As daylie dois thir doctouris of dyvyne,
Apertly be oure leving can apply,
And preve thare preching be a poesy.

The Lyon is this warld be liklynace,
To quhom lowtis bayth Empriour and King,
And thinkis of this warld to get mare grace,
Gapand daylie for to get mare lifing;
Sum for to reule, and sum to rax and ring,
Sum gadderis gere, sum gold, sum uthir gude;
To wyn this warld, sum wirkis as thai wer wode.

This Mere is men of contemplatioun,
Of pennance walkand in the wildernace,
As monkis and othir men of religioun,
That presis God to pleise in every place:
Abstrackit fra this warldis wretchidnes,
In wilfull povertie, fra pomp and pryde,
And fra this warld in mynd ar mortifyde.

Hir hufe I likkin to the thocht of dede.
Will thow remember, man, that thow may dee?
Thow may brek sensualiteis hede,
And fleschly lust away fra the sail flee;
Wise Salomon sais, will thow nocht see,
" For as thow may thy sely saull now wyn,
Think on thine end, thow sail nocht gladly syn."

The Wolf I likkin unto sensualitie,
As quhen, like brutall bestis, we accord
Our mynd all to this warldis vanitie,
Liking to tak and love him as our lord:
Flee fast thairfra, gif thow will rycht remord;
Than sail reasoun rise, rax, and ring
And for thy saull thair is no better thing.

This Tod I likin to temptatioun,
Berand to mynd mony thochtis vane,
That dayly segis men of religioun,
Cryand to thame, "Cum to the warld agane!"
Bot quhen thai see sensualitie neir slane,
And sudane dede with ithand panis sore,
Thay go abak, and temptis thame no more.

O Lord, Medeator for us mast meke,
Sitt doun before Thy Fader Celestiall,
For us synnaris His Celsitude beseke,
Us to defend fra payne and perallis all;
And help us up unto that hevinly hall,
In glore, quhair we may see the sycht of God. —
And thus endis the talking of the Tod.