The Swallow and Other Birdis

The he prudence and wirking marvellus,
The profound wit of God Omnipotent
Is so perfyt and so ingenious,
Excelland fer all manis argument;
For-quhy till Him all thing is ay present,
Rycht as it is, or ony tyme sal be,
Befoir the sicht of His Divinite.

Thairfore our saule with sensualitie
So fetterit is in presoun corporale,
We may nocht cleirly undirstand nor see
God as He is, nor thingis celestial;
Oure mirk and deidly corse material
Bindis the spirituale operatioun,
Lyke as a man war bundin in presoun.

In metaphisik Aristotle sayis,
That manis saule is lyk ane bakkis ee,
Quhilk lurkis still as lang as lycht of day is,
And in the gloming cumis furth to flee;
Hir ene ar waik, the sun scho may nocht see:
So is our saule with phantesye opprest,
To knaw the thingis in nature manifest.

For God is in His power infinyte,
And mannis saule is febill and owir small,
Of undirstanding waik and unperfyte,
To comprehend Him that contenis all.
Nane suld presume, be reasoun natural,
To serche the secretis of the Trinety,
Bot trow fermly, and lat dirk ressounis be.

Yit nevirtheles we may have knawlegeing
Of God Almychty be His creatouris,
That He is guid, fair, wyise, and bening;
Exemple takis be thir joly flowris,
Rycht sweit of smell and plesand of colouris,
Sum grene, sum blew, sum purpure, quhyte and reid,
Thus distribute be gift of His Godheid.

The firmament paintit with starris cleir
Fra eist to west rolland in circill round,
And every planet in his propir sphere,
In moving makand harmony and sound;
The fyre, the air, the watter, and the ground —
Till undirstand it is anuch, I wiss,
That God in all His warkis wittie is.

Luik we the fische that sowmis in the se;
Luik we in erd all kynd of bestiall;
The fowlis fair, sa forcelye thay flee,
Scheddand the air with pennis grite and small;
Syne luik to man, quhilk God maid last of all,
Lyk till His ymage and His similitude:
Be thir we knaw that God is fair and guid.

All creatouris He maid for the behufe
Of man, and till his supportatioun
Into this erd, baith under and abufe,
In nowmer, wecht, and dew proportioun;
The differens of tyme, and ilk seasoun,
Concordand to oure oportunitie,
As daylie be experience we do see.

The somer with his joly man till grene,
With flowris fair furrit on every fent,
Quhilk Flora Goddes, of the flowris Quene,
Hes to that lord as for his seasoun lent,
And Phebus with his gowdin bemis gent
Hes purfillit and paintit pleasandlie,
With heat and mosture stilland fra the skye.

Syne hervest hait, quhen Ceres, that goddes,
Hir barnis benit hes with abundance;
And Bachchus, god of wyne, renewit hes
The tume pypeis in Italie and France,
With wynis wicht, and liccour of plesance;
And copia temporis to fill hir home,
That nevir wes full of quheit nor uthir corn.

Syne winter wan, quhen austerne Eolus,
God of the wind, with blastis boriall,
The grene garmont of symmer glorious
Hes all to-rent and revin in pecis small;
Than flowris fair faidit with frost man fall,
And birdis blyith changeis thair notis sweit —
Intill murning, neir slane with snaw and sleit.

Thir dailis deip with dubbis drownit is,
Baith hill and holt heilit with frostis hair;
And bewis bene ar bethit bair of bliss,
Be wikkit windis of the wintare wair.
All wyild beistis than fra the bentis bair
Drawis for dreid unto thair dennis deip,
Couchand for cauld in covis thame to keip.

Syne cumis ver, quhen wintare is away,
The secretare of somer with his seill,
Quhen columbie up kikis throw the clay,
Quhilk fleit was before with frostis feill.
The mavis and the merle beginnis to mell;
The lark on loft, with uthir birdis smale,
Than drawis furth fra darne our doun and daile.

That samin seasoun, into a soft morning,
Rycht blyith thai bitter blastis wer ago,
Unto the wod, to see the flowris spring,
And heir the mavis sing and birdis mo,
I passit furth, syne luikit to and fro,
To se the soill that was richt seasonable,
Sappie, and to ressave all seidis hable.

Movand thus-gait, grit mirth I tuik in mynde,
Of lawboraris to see the besynace,
Sum makand dike, and sum the pleuch can wynd,
Sum sawand sedis fast fra place to place;
The harrowis hoppand in the sawaris trace:
It was grite joy to him that lufit corn,
To se thame laboure sa at evin and morne.

And as I baid under a bank full bene,
In hert gritlie rejosit of that sicht,
Unto a hege, under a hawthorne grene,
Of small birdis thair come a ferly flicht,
And doun belyve can on the levis lycht,
On every syde about me quhair I stude,
Rycht mervelous, a mekle multitude.

Amang the quhilk a swalow loud coud cry,
On that hawthorne heich in the crof sittand,
" O ye birdis on bewis here me by,
Ye sail wele knaw, and wyisly undirstand,
Quhair danger is and perrell appeirand;
It is grite wisdom to provyde before,
It to devoid, for drede it hurt yow more."

" Schir Swallow,'''' quod the Lark again, and leuch,
"Quhat have ye sene that causis yow to drede?"
"See ye yone churll," quod scho, "beyond yone pleuch,
Fast sawand hemp — lo, se! — and lynget sede?
Yone lynt will grow in lytill tyrae indede,
And thairof will yone churll his nettis mak,
Under the quhilk he thinkis us to tak.

" Thairfore I rede pas we quhen he is gone,
At evin, and with our nailis scharp and small,
Out of the erd schraip we yone seid anone,
And ete it up; for, gif it growis, we sail
Have cause to weip hereftir ane and all:
Se we remede thairfore forthwith, instante,
' Nam levius ledit quicquid praevidimus ante!

" For clerkis sayis it is nocht sufficient
To considder that is befoir thine ee;
Bot prudence is ane inward argument
That garris a man provyde befoir and see
Quhat guid, quhat evill is likly for to be
Of every thingis at the final end,
And sa fra perrell ethar him defend."

The Lark lauchand, the Swallow thus coud scorne,
And said, " Scho fischit lang befoir the nett;
The barne is eith to busk that is unborn;
All growis nocht that in the ground is sett;
The nek to stoup, quhen it the strake sail get,
Is sone eneuch; dede on the fey est fall." —
Thus scornit thay the Swallow ane and all.

Despising thus hir hailsum document,
The fowlis ferlie tuke thair flicht anone;
Sum with a bir thai braidit our the bent,
And sum agane ar to the grene wod gone.
Upon the land, quhair I wes left allone,
I tuke my club, and ham e wart coud I carye,
So ferlyand as I had sene a farye.

Thus passit furth quhill June, that joly tyde,
And sedis that war sawin of beforne
War growin heich, that hairis mycht thame hyde,
And als the qualye crakand in the come;
I movit furth betwene midday and morne,
Unto the hege, under the hawthorne grene,
Quhair I befoir the said birdis had sene.

And as I stude, be aventure and cais,
The samin birdis as I haif said yow air,
I hoip because it was thair hanting place,
Mair of succour or yit mair solitare,
Thay lychtit doun; and, quhen thai lychtit ware,
The Swallow swyft put furth a piteous pyme,
Said, " Wo is him can nocht be war in tyme!

" O blind birdis! and full of negligence,
Unmyndfull of your awin prosperitie,
Cast up your sycht and tak guid advertence,
Luik to the lynt that growis on yone le;
Yone is the thing I bad forsuith that we,
Quhill it was seid, suld rate furth of the erd;
Now it is lynt, now is it heych on breird.

" Go yit, quhill it is tender, young and small
And pull it up; lett it na mair increse;
My flesch growis, my bodye quakis all,
Thinkand on it, I may nocht sleip in pese."
Thai cryit all, and baid the Swallow ceise,
And said, " Yone lint heireftir will do guid,
For lingett is to lytill birdis fuid.

" We think, quhen that yone lint bollis ar rype,
To mak us feyst, and fill us of the seid,
Mawgre yone churll, and on it sing and pype."
" Weill," quod the Swallow, " freindis hardlie beid;
Do as ye will, bot certane sair I dreid,
Heireftir ye sail find als soure as sweit,
Quhen ye ar speldit on yone carlis speit.

" The awnare of yone lint ane fowlare is,
Richt cautelous and full of subtelty;
His pray full seindill tymis will he miss,
Bot giff we birdis all the warrare be;
Full mony of our kin he hes gart de,
And thocht it but ane sport till spill thair blude:
God keip me fra him, and the Halie Rude."

Thir small birdis haifand bot litill thocht
Of perrell that mycht fall be aventure,
The counsale of the Swallow sett at nocht,
Bot tuik thair flicht and on togidder fure;
Sum to the wod, sum markit to the mure.
I tuik my stalf, quhen this was said and done,
And walkit hame, quhill it drew neir hand none.

The lint rypit, the carll pullit the lyne,
Ripplit the bowis and in beitis sett,
It steipit in the burn and dryit syne,
And with a bitill knokit it and bett,
Syne scutchit it weill, and heclit it in the flett;
His wyffe it span, and twynit it into threid,
Of quhilk the fowlar nettis war maid indeid.

The wintare cam, the wickit wind can blaw,
The woddis grene war wallowit with weit,
Bayth firth and fell with frostis war maid faw,
Slonkis and slak maid slidderie with the sleit;
The fowlis fair for fait thai fell off feit;
On bewis bair it was na bute to byde
Bot hyit on in housis thame to hyde.

Sum in the berne, sum in the stak of corne
Thair ludgeing tuke and maid thair residence.
The fowlare saw, and grit athis hes he sworne
Thai suld be tane trewlie for thair expence.
His nettis he hes sett with diligence,
And in the snaw he schulit hes a plane,
And heilit it all ower with calf agane.

Thir small birdis seand the calf was gled;
Trowand it had bene corne, thay lychtit doun;
Bot of the nettis na presume thay had,
Nor of the fowlaris false intentioun;
To scraip and seik thair meit thay maid thame boun.
The Swallow on ane lytill branche neir by,
Dreidand for gyle, thus loud on thame coud cry:

" Into that caffe scraip quhill your nailis bleid,
Thair is na corn, ye laubour all in vaine;
Trow ye yone churll for pietie will yow feid?
Na, na, he hes it layit heir for a traine;
Remove, I reide, or ellis ye wil be slaine;
His nettis he hes sett full privelie,
Reddie to draw; in tyme be war for-thy."

Grite fule is he that puttis in danger
His lyfe, his honour for a thing of nocht;
Grite fule is he that will nocht glaidlie heir
Counsale in tyme, quhile it availl him mocht;
Grite fule is he that na thing hes in thocht
Bot thing present, and eftir quhat may fall,
Nor of the end hes na memoriall.

Thir small birdis, for hungar famist neir,
Full bissie scraipand for to seik thair fude,
The counsale of the Swallow wald nocht heir,
Suppois thair laubour did thame litill gude.
Quhen scho thair fulisch hertis understude,
So indurate, up in a tree scho flew;
With that the churll owir thame his nettis drew.

Allace! it was rycht grite hertis-sair to see
That bludye bouchure beit thai birdis doun,
And for to heir, quhen thay wist weill to dee,
Thair cairfull sang and lamentatioun:
Sum with ane staff he straik to erd in swoun,
Sum off the heid, of sum he brak the craig,
Sum half on lywe he stappit in his bag.

And quhen the Swallow saw that thay war deid,
" Lo," quod scho, "thus it happinnis oftin syis
Of thame that will nocht counsale tak nor reid
Of prudent men or clerkis that ar wyiss;
This grit perrell I tauld thame mair than thryiss;
Now ar thay deid, and wo is me thairfoir!"
Scho tuik hir flycht, bot hir I saw no moir.

Moralitas

Lo, worthie folk, Esope, that nobill clerk,
Ane poete wirthie to be laureate,
Quhen he vaikit fra mair autentik work,
With uther ma, this foirsaid faibill wrate,
Quhilk at this tyme may weill be applicate
To guid morale edificatioun,
Havand ane sentence cordand to reasoun.

This carl and bond, of gentrice spoliate,
Sawand this caff, thir small birdis to slay,
It is the feind, quhilk fra the angellis state
Exylit is, as fals apostata:
Quhilk day and nycht nevir weryis to ga
Sawand poysoun and monye wickit thocht
In mannis saul, quhilk Christ full deir hes bocht.

And quhen the saull, as seid dois in the erd,
Giffis consent unto delectatioun,
The wickit thocht than begynnis to breird
In deidlye syn, quhilk is damnatioun;
Reasoun is blindit with affectioun,
And carnall lust growis full grene and gay,
Throw consuetude hantit fra day to day.

Proceding furth be use and consuetude,
Syn rypis, and schame is sett on syde;
The feind plettis his nettis stark and rude,
And under pleasaunce privelye dois hyde;
Syne on the field he sawis caff full wyde,
Quhilk is bot tume and verrye vanitie
Of fleschlye lust and vaine prosperitie.

Thir hungry birdis, wretchis we may call,
Ay scraipand in this warldis vaine plesaunce,
Gredye to gadder guidis temporall,
Quhilk as the caff ar tume without substaunce,
Litill of vaill, and full of variance,
Lyke to the mow befoir the face of wind
Wiskis away and makis wretchis blind.

This Swallow, quhilk escapit thus the snair,
The halye precheour weill may signifie,
Exhortand men to walk and ay be war
Fra nettis of our wickit enemye,
Quhilk slepis nocht, bot evir is reddye,
Quhen wretchis in this warldis wrak do scraip
To draw his nett, that thay may nocht eschaip.

Alace! quhat cair, quhat weping is and wo,
Quhen saull and bodye pairtit ar in twane;
The body to the wormis kitching go,
The saull to fyre and evirlasting paine:
Quhat helpis than this caff and guidis vaine,
Quhen thow art put in Luciferis bag,
And brocht to hell, and hangit be the crag?

Thir hid nettis for to persave and see,
This sorye caff wyislye to understand,
Best is be war in maist prosperitie,
For in this warld thair is na thing lestand;
Is na man waitt quhow lang his stait will stand,
His lyfe will lest, nor how that he sail end
Eftir his deid, nor quhidder he sail wend.

Pray we thairfore, quhill we ar in this lyffe,
For foure thingis: the first, Fra syn remove;
The second is to seiss all weir and stryfe;
The thrid is perfyte cherity and love;
The ferd thing is, and maist for our behove,
That is in bliss with angellis to be fallow.
And thus endis the preching of the Swallow.