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(44) F2 verso-F3 recto (Page 84-85)

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84 Tha Fabillis

Schir foxe, in faith ze ar deir welcum heir.
It is sum wyfis malisone, I trow,
For pultrie pyking that lychtit hes on zow.

Thair sall na pedder, for purs, nor zit for glufis,
Nor zit for poyntis pyke zour pellet fra me.
I sall off it mak mittenis to my lufis,
Till hald my handis hait quhair euer I be.
Till flanderis sall it neuer saill the se.
With that in hy, he hint him be the heillis,
And with ane swak he swang him on the creillis.

Syne be the heid the hors in hy hes hint.
The fraudfull foxe thairto gude tent hes tane.
And with his teith the stoppell or he stint,
Pullit out, and syne the hering ane, and ane,
Out off the creillis he swakkit doun gude wane.
The volff wes war, and gadderit spedilie.
The cadgear sang, huntis vp, vp vpon hie.

Zit at ane burne the cadgear lukit about.
With that the foxe lap quyte the creillis fray.
The cadgear wald haue raucht the foxe ane rout.
Bot all for nocht, he wan his hoill that day.
Than with ane schout, thus can the cadgear say.
Abyde and thou ane nekhering sall haif,
Is worth my capill, creillis, and all the laif.

Now (quod the foxe) I schreu me, and we meit.
I hard quhat thou hecht to do with my skyn.

Off Esope 85

Thy handis sall neuer in thay mittinnis tak heit,
And thou wer hangit carll, and all thy kyn.
Do furth thy mercat, at me thou sall nocht wyn,
And sell thy hering thou hes thair, till hie price
Ellis thow sall wyn nocht on thy merchandice.

The cadgear trimmillit for teyne quhair that he stude.
It is weill worthie (quod he) I want zone tyke,
That had nocht in my hand sa mekill gude,
As staff, or sting, zone truker for to stryke.
With that lychtlie he lap out ouer ane dyke.
And snakkit doun ane staff, for he wes tene.
That heuie wes, and off the holyne grene.

With that the foxe vnto the volff could wend.
And fand him be the hering, quhair he lyis.

Schir said he than maid I not fair defend.
Ane wicht man wantit neuer, and he wer wyis.
Ane hardie hart is hard for to suppryis.
Than (said the volff) thow art ane berne full bald.
And wyse at will, in gude tyme be it tald.

Bot quhat wes zone the carll cryit on hie,
And schuke his hand, quod he hes thou no feill?
Schir (said the foxe) that I can tell trewlie.
He said, the nekhering wes in till the creill.
Kennis thou that hering: ze schir, I ken it weill.
And at the creill mouth I had it thryis but dout.
The wecht off it neir tit my tuskis out.

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