The Proloug of the first Buik of Eneados - Gavin Douglas

Laude, honor, prasingis, thankis infynite

To the, and thi dulce ornate fresch endite,

Mast reverend Virgill, of Latyne poetis prince,

Gemme of ingine and fluide of eloquence,

Thow peirles perle, patroun of poetrie,

Rois, register, palme, laurer, and glory,

Chosin cherbukle, cheif flour and cedir tree,

Lanterne, leidsterne, mirrour, and a per se,

Master of masteris, sweit sours and springand well,

Wyde quhar our all ringis thi hevinle bell:

I mene thi crafty werkis curious,

Sa quik, lusty, and mast sentencious,

Plesable, perfyte, and felable in all degre,

As quha the mater held to foir thar ee;

In every volume quhilk the list do write,

Surmonting fer all uther maneir endite,

Lyk as the rois in June with hir sueit smell

The marygulde or dasy doith excell.

Quhy suld I than, with dull forhede and vane,

With ruide engine and barrand emptive brane,

With bad harsk speche and lewit barbour tong,

Presume to write quhar thi sueit bell is rong,

Or contirfait sa precious wourdis deir?

Na, na, nocht sua, bot knele quhen I thame heir.

For quhat compair betuix midday and nycht,

Or quhat compare betuix myrknes and lycht,

Or quhat compare is betuix blak and quhyte,

Far gretar diference betuix my blunt endyte

And thi scharp sugurat sang Virgiliane,

Sa wyslie wrocht with nevir ane word in vane;

My waverand wit, my cunnyng feble at all,

My mynd mysty, thir ma nocht myss ane fall.

Stra for this ignorant blabring imperfyte

Beside thi polyte termis redemyte;

And no the les with support and correctioun,

For naturall luife and freindfull affectioun

Quhilkis I beir to thi werkis and endyte,

Althocht, God wait, I knaw tharin full lyte,

And that thi facund sentence mycht be song

In our langage als weill as Latyne tong..

Alswele, na, na, impossible war,per de,

Yit with your leif, Virgill, to follow the,

I wald into my rurale vulgar gros,

Write sum savoring of thi Eneados.

Bot sair I drede for to distene the quyte,

Throu my corruptit cadens imperfyte;

Distene the, na forsuith, that ma I nocht,

Weill ma I schaw my burell busteous thocht;

Bot thi work sall enduire in laude and glory,

Bot spot or falt, conding eterne memory.

Thocht I offend, onhermit is thine fame,

Thyne is the thank, and myne sal be the shame.

Quha ma thi versis follow in all degre, 

In bewtie, sentence, and in granite?

Nane is, nor was, nor zit sal be, trow I, 

Had, has, or sal have sic crafte in poetrie. 

Of Helicon so drank thou dry the fluid 

That of the copiose flomtli or plenitud, 

All man purches drink at thi sugurat tone, 

So lamp of day thou art, and shynand mone, 

All wheris on force mon their lycht beg or borow 

Thou art Vesper, and the day sterne at morow;

Thou Phebus lychtnar of the planetis all, 

I not quhat dewlie I the clepe sail. 

For thou art al and sum, quhat nedis moir, 

Of Latyne poetis that sens wes or befoir. 

Of the writis Macrobius, sans fail, 

In his grete volume clepit Saturnail, 

Thi sawis in sic eloquence doith fleit. 

So inuentive of rhetorik flouris sueit 

Thou art, and hes sa hie profund sentence 

Therto perfyte, but ony indigence, 

That na lovingis ma do incres thi fame.

Nor na reproche diminew thi guid name. 

But sen I am compellit the to translait. 

And nocht onlie of my curage, God wait, 

Durst interprise sic outragious foli, 

Quhar I offend, the les repreif serf I; 

And at ye knaw at quhais instaunce I tuik 

For to translait this mast excellent buik, 

I mene Virgilis volume maist excellent. 

Set this my werk full feble be of rent,

At the request of ane lorde of renowne, 

Of ancistry noble and illuster barowne,

Fader of bukis, protectour to science and lare,

My speciall gude lord Henry Lord Sanct Clair,

Quhilk with grete instance diners tymes seir,

Prayit me translait Yirgill or Omeir;

Quhais plesour suitlilie as I wnderstuid,

As neir coniunct to his lordschip in bluid,

So that me thocht his reqneist ane command,

Half disparit this wark tnik on hand,

Noclit fullie grantand, nor anis sayand ze,

Bot onelie to assay quhow it mycht be.

Quha mycht ganesay a lord sa gentle and kynd,

That euir hed ony curtasy in thair mynd,

Quhilk beside his innative polecy,

Humanite, curaige, fredome and chevalry,

Bukis to recollect, to reid and se,

Hes greit delite als euir hed Ptolome!

Qidiarfor to his nobilite and estaite,

Quhat so it be, this bulk I dedicaite,

Writing in the language of Scottis natioun,

And thus I mak my protestacioun.

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Gavin Douglas (1475 - 1522) Scotland

Source: The poetical works of Gavin Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, with memoir, notes, and glossary, Volume Second, William Paterson, 1874