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(10) A8 verso - B1 recto (Page 16-17)

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(10) A8 verso - B1 recto (Page 16-17) -
	16		The Fabillis
	
	
	So desolate and will off ane gude reid,
	For verray dreid scho fell in swoun neir deid.
	
	
	Bot as God wald it fell ane happie cace,
	The spenser had na laser for to byde,
	Nowther to seik, nor serche, to char nor chace,
	Bot on he went, and left the dure vp wyde.
	The bald burges his passage weill hes spyde,
	Out off hir hole scho come, and cryit on hie.
	How fair ze sister cry peip quhair euer ze be.
	
	
	This rurall mous, lay flatling on the ground
	And for the deith scho wes full sair dredand.
	For till hir hart straik mony wofull stound,
	As in ane feuer trimbillit fute and hand.
	And quhan hir sister in sic ply hir fand,
	For verray pietie scho began to greit,
	Syne confort hir with wordis hunny sweit.
	
	
	Quhy ly ze thus ryse vp my sister deir?
	Cum to zour meit, this perrell is ouerpast.
	The vther answerit with a heuie cheir,
	I may not eit sa sair I am agast.
	I had leuer thir fourty dayis fast,
	With watter caill, and to gnaw benis or peis,
	Than all zour feist in this dreid and diseis.
	
	
	With fair tretie zit scho gart hir vpryse,
	And to the burde thay went and togidder sat,
	
	
			Off Esope			17
	
	
	And scantlie had thay drunkin anis or twyse,
	Quhen in come gib hunter our iolie cat,
	And bad God speid, the burges vp with that,
	And till hir hole scho fled as fyre of flint,
	Bawdronis the vther be the bak hes hint.
	
	
	Fra fute to fute he kest hir to and fra,
	Quhylis vp, quhylis doun, als tait as ony kid,
	Quhylis wald he lat hir rin vnder the stra,
	Quhylis wald he wink, and play with hir buk heid.
	Thus to the selie mous grit pane he did.
	Quhill at the last throw fair fortune and hap,
	Betwix the dosor and the wall scho crap.
	
	
	Syne vp in haist behind the parraling,
	So hie scho clam that gilbert micht not get hir,
	And be the clukis craftelie can hing,
	Till he wes gane hir cheir wes all the better.
	Syne doun scho lap quhen thair wes nane to let hir.
	Apon the burges mous loud can scho cry,
	Fairweill sister thy feist heir I defy.
	
	
	Thy mangerie is mingit all with cair,
	Thy guse is gude thy gansell sour as gall.
	The subcharge off thy seruice is bot sair,
	Sa sall thow find heir efterwart may fall,
	I thank zone courtyne and zone perpall wall.
	Off my defence now fra zone crewell beist.
	Almichtie God keip me fra sic ane feist.

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