56 The Fabillis
To heir it wes ane poynt off paradice,
Sic mirth the mauis, and the merle couth ma.
The blossummis blythe brak vp on bank and bra,
The smell off herbis and the fowlis cry,
Contending quha suld haue the victory.
Me to conserue than fra the sonis heit,
Vnder the schaddow off ane hawthorne grene,
I lenit doun amang the flouris sweit,
Syne maid a cors and closit baith my ene.
On sleip I fell amang thir bewis bene.
And in my dreme, me thocht come throw the schaw,
The fairest man that euer befoir I saw.
His gowne wes off ane claith, als quhyte as milk.
His chymmeris wes off chambelate purpour broun.
His hude off scarlet, bordowrit weill with silk,
On hekillit wyis vntill his girdill doun.
His bonat round, and off the auld fassoun.
His heid wes quhyte, his ene wes grit and gray,
With lokker hair, quhilk ouer his schulderis lay.
Ane roll off paper in his hand he bair.
Ane swannis pen stikand vnder his eir.
Ane inkhorne, with ane prettie gilt pennair,
Ane bag off silk, all at his belt he weir
Thus wes he gudelie grathit in his geir,
Off stature large, and with ane feirfull face.
Euin quhair I lay he come ane sturdie pace.
Off Esope. 57
And said, God speid my sone: and I wes fane
Off that couth word, and off his cumpany.
With reuerence I salusit him agane,
Welcome father: and he sat doun me by.
Displeis zow not my gude maister, thocht I.
Demand zour birth, zour facultye, and name,
Quhy ze come heir, or quhair ze dwell at hame?
My sone said he I am off gentill blude.
My natall land is rome withoutin nay.
And in that towne first to the sculis I zude,
In ciuile law studyit full mony ane day.
And now my winning is in heuin for ay.
Esope I hecht, my writing and my werk,
Is couth and kend to mony cunning clerk.
O maister esope poet lawriate,
God wait ze ar full deir welcum to me.
Ar ze not he that all thir fabillis wrate,
Quhilk in effect suppois thay fenzeit be,
Ar full off prudence and moralitie?
Fair sone said he I am the samin man.
God wait gif that my hert wes merie than.
I said, Esope my maister venerabill,
I zow beseik hartlie for cheritie,
Ze wald dedene to tell ane prettie fabill,
Concludand with ane gude moralitie.
Schaikand his heid, he said, my sone lat be,