The Fox, the Wolf, and the Cadger

Quhylum thair wynnit in ane wildernes,
As myne author expreslie can declair,
Ane revand Wolf that levit upon cais
On bestiall, and maid him weill to fair;
Was nane sa big about him he wald spair,
And he war hungrie, outher for favour or feid,
Bot in his wraith he weryit thame to deid.

Swa happinnit him in watching, as he went,
To meit ane Foxe in middis of the way;
He him fbirsaw, and fenyeit to be schent,
And with ane bek he bad the Wolf gude day.
" Welcum to me," quod he, "thow russell gray;
Syne loutit doun and tuke him be the hand.
" Ryse up, Lowrence, I leif the for to stand.

"Quhair hes thow bene this sesoun fra my sicht?
Thow sail beir office, and my stewart be,
For thow can knap doun caponis on the nicht,
And lourand law, thow can gar hennis de.
" Schir," said the Foxe, " that ganis nocht for me:
And I am raid, gif thay me se on far,
That at my figure beist and bird will skar."

" Na," quod the Wolf, " thow can in covert creip
Upon thy wame, and hint thame be the heid;
And mak ane suddand schow upon ane scheip,
Syne with thy wappinnis wirrie him to deid.
" Schir," said the Foxe, " ye knaw my rob is reid,
And thairfoir thair will na beist abyde me,
Thocht I wald be sa fals as for to hyde me,"

"Yis," quod the Wolf, "throw buskis and throw brayis
Law can thow lour to cum to thine intent.'"
" Schir," said the Foxe, " ye wait weill how it gais;
Ane lang space fra thame thay will feill my sent,
Then will thay eschaip, suppois I suld be schent;
And I am schamefull for to cum behind thame
In to the feild, thocht I suld sleipand find thame."

" Na," quod the Wolf, " thow can cum on the wind,
For everie wrink, forsuith, thow hes ane wyle."
"Schir," said the Foxe, "that beist ye micht call blind,
That, micht not eschaip than fra me ane myle.
How micht I ane of thame that wyis begyle?
My tippit twa eiris, and my twa gray ene,
Garris me be kend, quhair I wes never sene."

Than said the Wolf, " Lowrence, I heir the le,
And cash's for perrellis thy ginnes to defend;
Bot all thy sonyeis sail not availl the,
About the busk with wayis thocht thow wend;
Falset will failye ay at the latter end;
To bow at bidding, and byde not quhill thow brest,
Thairfoir I gif the counsall for the best."

" Schir," said the Foxe, " it is Lenterne ye se;
I can nouther fische with huke nor net,
To tak ane bane stikill; thocht we baith suld de,
I haif na uther craft to win my meit;
Bot wer it Pasche, that men suld pultrie eit,
As kiddis, lambis, or caponis in to ply,
To beir your office than wald I not set by."

" Than," said the Wolf, in wraith, " wenis thow with wylis,
And with thy mony mowis me to mat?
It is ane auld dog, doutles, that thow begylis:
Thow wenis to draw the stra befoir the catt! "
" Schir," said the Foxe," " God wait, I mene not that;
For and I did, it wer weill worth that ye
In ane reid raip suld ty me till ane tre.

" Bot now I se he is ane fiile perfay
That with his maister fallis in ressoning;
I did bot till assay quhat ye wald say;
God wait, my mynd wes on ane uther thing;
I sail fulfill in all thing your bidding,
Quhatever ye charge, on nichtis or on dayis."
" Weill," quod the Wolf, " I heir weill quhat thow sayis.

" Bot yit I will thow mak to me ane aith,
For to be leill attour all levand leid."
" Schir," said the Foxe, " that ane word makis me wraith,
For now I se ye haif me at ane dreid;
Yit sail I sweir, suppois it be not neid,
Be Juppiter, and on pane of my heid,
I sail be trew to yow, quhill I be deid."

With that ane Cadgear, with capill and with creillis,
Come carpand furth; than drew this boucheour by-
The Foxe the never of the fresche hering feillis,
And to the Wolf he rowndis privelie:
"Schir, yone ar hering the Cadgear caryis by;
Thairfoir I reid that we se for sum wayis
To get sum fische aganis thir fasting dayis.

" Sen I am stewart, I wald we had sum stuf,
And ye ar silver seik, I wait richt weill;
Thocht we wald thig yone verray churlische chuf,
He will not gif us ane hering of his creill,
Befoir yone churle on kneis thocht we wald kneill;
Bot yit I trow alsone that ye sail se,
Gif I can haist to bleir yone carllis ee.

" Schir, ane thing is, and we get of yone pelf,
Ye man tak travell and mak us sum supple;
For he that will not laubour and help himself,
Into thir dayis, he is not worth ane fle;
I think to wirk as besie as ane be;
And ye sail follow ane lytill efterwart,
And gadder hering, for that sail be your part.

With that he kest ane compas far about,
And straucht him down in middis of the way;
As he war deid he fenyeit him, but dout,
And than upon ane lang unlikly bray
The quhyte he turnit up of his ene tway;
His toung out hang ane handbreid of his heid,
And still he lay, als straucht as he wer deid.

The Cadgear fand the Foxe, and he wes fane,
And till himself this softlie can he say:
" At the nixt bait, in faith, ye sail be flane,
And of your skyn I sail mak mittennis twa."
He lap full lichtlie about him quhair he lay,
And all the trace he trippit on his tais;
As he had hard ane pyper play, he gais.

" Heir lyis the devill," quod he, " deid in a dyke,
Sic ane selcouth saw I not this sevin yeir;
I trow ye haif bene tussillit with sum tyke,
That garris yow ly sa still withoutin steir:
Schir Foxe, in faith, ye ar deir welcum heir;
It is sum wyfis malisone, I trow,
For pultrie pyking, that lychtit hes on yow.

"Thair sail na pedder for purs, nor yit for glufis,
Nor yit for poyntis pyke your pellet fra me;
I sail of it mak mittennis to my lufis,
Till hald my handis hait quhairever I be;
Till Flanderis sail it never saill the se.'"
With that in hy, he hint him be the heillis,
And with ane swak he swang him on the creillis.

Syne be the heid the hors in hy hes hint;
The fraudfull Foxe thairto gude tent hes tane,
And with his teith the stoppell, or he stint,
Pullit out, and syne the hering ane and ane
Out of the creillis he swakkit down gude wane.
The Wolf wes war, and gadderit spedilie;
The Cadgear sang, " Huntis up, up," upoun hie.

Yit at ane burne the Cadgear luikit about;
With that the Foxe lap quyte the creillis frae;
The Cadgear wald haif raucht the Foxe ane rout;
Bot all for nocht, he wan his hoill that day.
Than with ane schout thus can the Cadgear say:
" Abyde, and thow ane nekhering sail haif,
Is worth my capill, creillis, and all the laif."

" Now," quod the Foxe, " I schrew me and we meit;
I hard quhat thow hecht to do with my skyn.
Thy hands sail never in thay mittennis tak heit,
And thow war hangit, Carll, and all thy kyn!
Do furth thy mercat; at me thow sail nocht wyn;
And sell thy hering thow hes thair till hie price,
Ellis thow sail wyn nocht on thy merchandice.'"

The Cadgear trimillit for teyne quhair that he stude;
" It is weill worthie," quod he, " I want yone tyke,
That had not in my hand sa mekill gude
As staf, or sting, yone truker for to stryke.'"
With that lichtlie he lap out ouer ane dyke,
And snakkit down ane staf, for he wes tene,
That hevie wes and of the holyne grene.

With that the Foxe unto the Wolf couth wend,
And fand him be the hering, quhair he lyis;
" Schir," said he than, " maid I not fair defend?
Ane wicht man wantit never, and he wer wyis;
Ane hardie hart is hard for to suppryis."
Than said the Wolf: "Thou art ane berne full bald,
And wyse at will, in gude tyme be it tald.

" Bot quhat wes yone the Carll cryit on hie,
And schuke his heid, quhen that he saw thow fell?"
"Schir," said the Foxe, "that I can tell trewlie;
He said the nekhering wes in till the creill."
" Kennis thow that hering? " " Ye, Schir, I ken it weill,
And at the creill mouth I had it thryis but dout;
The wecht thair-of neir tit my tuskis out.

"Now, suithlie, Schir, micht we that hering fang:
It wald be fische to us thir fourtie dayis."
Than said the Wolf: "Now God nor that I hang,
Bot to be thair I wald gif all my clais,
To se gif that my wappinnis mycht it rais."
" Schir," said the Foxe: " God wait, I wischit yow oft,
Quhen that my teith micht not beir it on loft.

" It is ane syde of salmond, as it wer,
And callour, pypand like ane pertrik ee;
It is worth all the hering ye haif thair,
Ye, and we had it swa, it is worth sic thre."
"Than," said the Wolf, "quhat counsell gevis thow me? "
" Schir," said the Foxe, " wirk efter my devyis,
And ye sail haif it, and tak yow na suppryis.

" First ye man cast ane cumpas far about,
Syne straucht yow doun in middis of the way;
Baith heid, and feit, and taill ye man streik out,
Hing furth your toung, and clois weill your ene tway;
Syne se your heid on ane hard place ye lay;
And dout not for na perrell may appeir,
Bot hald yow clois quhen that the Carll cummis neir.

" And thocht ye se ane staf, haif ye na doubt,
Bot hald yow wonder still into that steid;
And luke your ene be clois, as thay wer out,
And se that ye schrink nouther fute nor heid;
Than will the Cadgear Carll trow ye be deid,
And in till haist will hint yow be the heillis,
As he did me, and swak yow on his creillis! "

"Now," quod the Wolf, "I sweir the be my thrift,
I trow yone Cadgear Carll dow not me heir."
"Schir," said the Foxe, "on loft he will yow lift
Upoun his creillis, and do him lytill deir,
Bot ane thing dar I suithlie to yow sweir,
Get ye that hering sicker in sum place,
Ye sail not fair in fisching mair quhill Pasche.

" I sail say In principio upoun yow,
And croce your corpis from the top to ta;
Wend quhen ye will, I dar be warrand now
That ye sail de na suddan deith this day."
With that the Wolf gird up sone and to ga,
And caist ane cumpas about the Cadgear far;
Syne straucht him in the gait or he come nar.

He laid his halfheid sicker hard and sad,
Syne straucht his four feit fra him, and his heid,
And hang his toung furth as the Foxe him bad;
Als still he lay, as he wer verray deid,
Rakkand na thing of the Carllis favour nor feid,
Bot ever upon the nekhering he thinkis,
And quyte forgetis the Foxe and all his wrinkis.

With that the Cadgear, als wraith as ony wind,
Come rydand on the laid, for it wes licht,
Thinkand ay on the Foxe that wes behind,
Upon quhat wyse revenge him best he micht;
And at the last of the Wolf gat ane sicht,
Quhair he in lenth lay streikit in the gait;
Bot gif he lichtit doun, or nocht, God wait!

" Softly," he said, " I wes begylit anis;
Be I begylit twyis, I schrew us baith,
That evill bot it sail licht upon my banis,
He suld haif had that hes done me the skaith."
On hicht he hovit the stalf, for he wes wraith,
And hit him with sic will upon the heid,
Quhill neir he swonit and swelt into that steid.

Thre battis he buir or he his feit mycht find,
Bot yit the Wolf wes wicht, and wan away.
He micht not se, he wes sa verray blind,
Nor wit reddilie quhether it wes nicht or day.
The Foxe beheld that service quhair he lay,
And leuch on loft, quhen he the Wolf sa seis,
Baith deif and dosinnit, fall swonand on his kneis.

He that of ressoun can not be content,
Bot covetis all, is abill all to tyne.
The Foxe, quhen that he saw the Wolf wes schent,
Said to himself: " Thir hering sail be myne; '"
I le, or ellis he wes efterwart fyne
That fand sic wayis his maister for to grief;
With all the fische thus Lowrence tuk his leif.

The Wolf wes neir weill dunging to the deid,
That uneis with his lyfe away he wan,
For with the bastoun weill brokin wes hes heid.
The Foxe in to his den sone drew him than,
That had betraisit his maister and the man:
The ane wantit the hering of his creillis,
The utheris blude wes rynnand ouer his heillis.

Moralitas

This taill is myngit with moralitie,
As I sail schaw sumquhat or that I ceis:
The Foxe unto the warld may likkinnit be,
The revand Wolf unto ane man but leis,
The Cadgear Deith, quhome under all man preis;
That ever tuke lyfe throw cours of kynd man dee
As man, and beist, and fische in to the see.

The warld, ye wait, is stewart to the man,
Quhilk may mak man to haif na mynd of deid,
Bot settis for winning all the craftis thay can;
The hering I likkin unto the gold sa reid,
Quhilk gart the Wolf in perrell put his heid:
Richt swa the gold ganis landis and cieteis,
With weir be waistit, daylie as men seis.

And as the Foxe with dissimulance and gyle
Gart the Wolf wene to haif worschip for ever,
Richt swa this warld with vane glore for ane quhyle
Flattens with folk, as they suld failye never,
Yit suddandlie men seis it oft dissever;
With thame that trowis oft to fill the sek,
Deith cumrais behind and nippis thame be the nek.

The micht of gold makis mony men sa blind,
That settis on avarice thair felicitie,
That they forget the Cadgear cummis behind
To strike thame, of quhat stait sa ever they be.
Quhat is mair dirk than blind prosperitie?
Quhairfoir I counsell mychtie men to haif mynd
Of the Nekhering, interpreit in this kynd.