36 The Fabillis
As nature will seikand his meit be sent,
Off cace he fand his fatheris carioun,
Nakit, new slane, and till him hes he went,
Tuke vp his heid, and on his kne fell doun,
Thankand grit God off that conclusioun.
And said, now sall I bruke sen I am air,
The boundis quhair thow wes wont for to repair.
Fy couetice vnkynd, and venemous.
The sone wes fane he fand his father deid,
Be suddand schot, for deidis odious,
That he micht ringe, and raxe in till his steid.
Dreidand na thing the samin lyfe to leid,
In thift, and reif, as did his father befoir.
Bot to the end attent he tuke no moir.
Zit neuertheles throw naturall pietie,
The carioun vpon his bak he tais.
Now find I weill this prouerb trew quod he
Ay rinnis the foxe, als lang as he fute hais.
Syne with the corps vnto ane peitpoit gais,
Off watter full, and kest him in the deip.
And to the deuill he gaif his banis to keip.
O fulische man plungit in wardlynes,
To conqueis wrangwis guidis, gold, and rent.
To put thy saull in pane, or heuines,
To riche thy air quhilk efter thow art went,
Haue he thy gude, he takis bot small tent.
Off esope. 37
To sing or say for thy saluatioun
Fra thow be dede done is thy deuotioun
This tod to rest him, carit to ane craig,
And thair he hard ane buisteous bugill blaw.
Quhilk as him thocht, maid all the warld to waig.
Than start he vp, quhen he this hard and saw.
Ane vnicorne come lansand ouer ane law.
With horne in hand, ane buste in breist he bure.
Ane pursephant semelie I zow assure.
Vnto ane bank quhair he micht se about,
On euerilk syde in haist he culd him hy.
Schot out his voce, full schyll, and gaif ane schout.
And oyas oyas twyse, or thryse did cry.
With that the beistis in the feild thairby,
All meruelland, quhat sic ane thing suld mene,
Govand agast thay gaderit on ane grene.
Out off his buste ane bill sone can he braid,
And red the text withoutin tarying.
Commandand silence, sadlie thus he said.
We nobill lyoun, off all beistis the king,
Greting to God ay lestand but ending.
To brutall beistis, and irrationall,
I send, as to my subiectis grit and small.
My celsitude and hie magnificence,
Lattis zow to wit, that euin incontinent,
Thinkis the morne with royall deligence,