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(6) [ A4v-A5r (Page 8-9) ] -
8 The Fabilliis

Thow hes na corne: and thairof I had neid
thy cullour dois bot confort to the sicht.
And that is not aneuch my wame to feid.
For wyfis sayis, that lukand werk is licht.
I wald sum meit haue, get it geue I micht.
For houngrie men may not weill leue on lukis:
Had I dry breid, I compt not for na cukis.

Quhar suld thow mak thy habitatioun?
Quhar suld thow duell, bot in ane royall tour?
Quhar suld thow sit, bot on ane kingis croun,
Exalt in worschip and in grit honour?
Rise gentill iasp, of all stanis the flour,
Out of this fen and pas quhar thow suld be,
Thow ganis not for me, nor I for the.

Leuand this iowell law vpon the ground,
To seik his meit this cok his wayis went.
Bot quhen, or how, or quhome be it wes found,
As now I set to hald na argument.

Bot of the inward sentence, and intent:
Of this fabill as myne author dois write
I sall reheirs in rude and hamelie dite.

This iolie iasp hes properteis seuin:
The first, of cullour it is meruelous:
Part lyke the fyre, and part lyke to the heuin.
It makis ane man stark and victorious.

Of Esope 9

Preseruis als fra cacis perrillous.
Quha hes this stane, sall haue gude hap to speid
Of fyre, nor fallis him neidis not to dreid.

This gentill iasp, richt different of hew
Betakinnis perfite prudence and cunning.
Ornate with mony deidiss of vertew,
Mair excellent, than ony eirthly thing.
Quhilk makis men in honour ay to ring,
Happie, and stark to half the victorie,
Of all vicis, and spirituall enemie.

Quha may be hardie, riche and gratious?
Quha can eschew perrell and auenture?
Quha can gouerne ane realme cietie or hous,
Without science, no man I zow assure?
It is riches that euer sall indure,
Quhilk maith, nor moist, nor vther rust can freit,
To mannis saull it is eternall meit.

This cok desyrand mair the sempill corne,
Than ony iasp, may till ane fule be peeir.
Quhilk at science makis bot ane moik and scorne,
And na gude can: als lytill will he leir.
His hart wammillis wyse argumentis to heir.
As dois ane sow, to quhome men for the nanis,
In hir draf troich wald saw the precious stanis.

Quha is enemie to science and cunning,
Bot ignorants, that vnderstandis nocht?

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