(25) [ C7v-C8r (Page 46-47) ]

46 The Fabillis

This harlet huresone, and this hound off hell.
He werryit hes my lamb full doggitly,
Within ane myle, in contrair to zour cry.
For Goddis lufe, my lord, gif me the law,
Off this lurker, with that lowrence let draw.

Byde quod the lyoun lymmer let vs se,
Giff it be suthe the selie zow hes said.
Aa souerane lord, saif zour mercie quod he
My purpois wes with him for to haif plaid.
Causles he fled as he had bene effraid,
For dreid off deith, he duschit ouer ane dyke,
And brak his nek. Thow leis quod scho fals tyke.

His deith be practik may be preuit eith,
Thy gorrie gumis, and thy bludie snout.
The woll, the flesche zit stikkis on thy teith,
And that is euidence aneuch but dout.
The iustice bad ga cheis ane sis about.
And so thay did, and fand that he wes fals,
Off murther, thift, and party tressoun als.

Thay band him fast, the iustice bad belyif,
To gif the dome, and tak off all his clais.

The volff that new maid doctour couth him schrif
Syne furth him led and to the gallous gais,
And at the ledder fute his leif he tais.
The aip wes basare and bad him sone ascend.
And hangit him, and thus he maid his end.

Off Esope. 47

Moralitas.

Richt as the mynour in his minorall,
Fair gold with fyre may fra the leid weill wyn.
Richt so vnder ane fabill figurall,
Sad sentence men may seik: and efter fyne,
As daylie dois the doctouris of deuyne,
That to our leuing full weill can apply,
And paynt thair mater furth be poetry.

The lyoun is the warld be liklynace,
To quhome loutis baith empriour, and king,
And thinkis of this warld to get mare grace,
And gapis daylie to get mair leuing.
Sum for to reull: and sum to raxe and ring.
Sum gadderis geir: sum gold: sum vther gude,
To wyn this warld, sum wirkis as thay wer wod.

The meir is men of contemplatioun.
Off pennance walkand in this wildernes,
As monkis and othir men of religioun.
That presis God to pleis in euerilk place,
Abstractit from this warldis wretchitnes,
In wilfull pouertee fra pomp and pryde,
And fra this warld in mynd ar mortyfyde.

This volf I likkin to sensualitie,
As quhen lyke brutall beistis we accord,
Our mynd all to this warldis vanitie,
Lyking to tak, and loif him as our lord,
Fle fast thairfra, gif thow will richt remord,
Than sall ressoun ryse, rax and ring,
And for thy saull thair is na better thing.