Robert Henryson: Orpheus and Eurydice with Robert Henryson: The Want of Wise Men   (Page 5 of 20)

First Scottish book image

(p.153) To mend my murnyng and my drery mone
Thou geve me forse that I noucht faynt nor fall
Quhill I hir fynd for seke hir suth I sall
And nouthir stynt nor stand for stok no stone
Throu thy god hede gyde me quhare scho is gone
Ger hir appere / and put my hert in pes
thus king orpheus with his harp allone
Sore wepit for his wyf Erudices

Quhen endit was the sangis lamentable
He tuke his harp / and on his brest can hyng
Syne passit to the hevin. as sais the fable
To seke his wyf / bot that auailit no thing
By wadlyng strete he went but tarying
Syne come doune throu the spere of saturn alde
Quhilk fader is of all thir sternis calde

Quhen scho was soucht out throu that calde regioun
To Iupiter his grantsir can he wend.
Quhilk rewit sare his lamentatioun
And gert his spere be sought fra end to ende.
Scho was noucht thare / than doune he can descende
To mars the god of bataill. & of stryf
And soucht his spere / yit gat he noucht his wyf

Syne went he doune to his fader phebus
God of the son wyth bemes bryt and clere
Bot quhen that he saw his sone Orpheus
In sik a plyte. it changit all his chere
He gert anone go seke throu all his spere
Bot all in wayn that lady come noucht thare
Than tuke he leve / and to venus can fare