by Virgil
Quhilk of thar proper vertu lyst do wyn
Perpetuall lovyng by dedis honorabill,
And doith contemp the wrachit warld onstabill;
Thame in lyke wyss abufe the hevynnys hie
I sal do place and deify,” quod he.
The goddis abuf alhaill gave thar consent,
Nor ryall Iuno, at that tyme present,
Lyst not contrary, bot gan perswaid full evyn
To bryng the gret Ene vp to the hevyn,
And frendly wordis of hym carpys thar.
Than Venus slaid discendand throw the ayr
And socht onto the feildis Lawrentan,
Neir by quhar that Numycus throu the playn,
That fresch ryver, flowys to the see,
Dekkyt abowt with redis growand hie;
Quharin the body of hir son sa deir
Scho maid do wesch, and vnder the stremys cleir
All that was mortale or corruptibill thyng
Gart do away; and syne, at hir lykyng,
The recent happy sawl with hyr hynt sche
And bair it vp abuf the ayr full hie
Onto the hevyn, quhar reuthfull Eneas
Amyd the starnys chosyn hass his place;
Quham the famyll and kynrent Iulian
Doith clepe and call amangis thame euery ane
Indigites, quhilk is alsmekill to say
As god induellar, at thar sudiornys ay;
And, in remembrans of this ilk turn,
Thai gan hys templis wirschip and adorn. etc.
finis
Explicit liber decimus tertius Eneados
CONCLUSIO
Now is my wark all fynyst and compleit,
Quham Iovis ire, nor fyris byrnand heit,
Nor trynschand swerd sal defass ne doun thryng,
Nor lang process of age, consumys al thyng.
Quhen that onknawyn day sal hym address,
Quhilk not bot on this body power hess,
And endis the dait of myn oncertan eld,
The bettir part of me salbe vpheld
Abufe the starnys perpetualy to ryng,
And heir my naym remane, but enparyng;
Throw owt the ile yclepit Albyon
Red sall I be, and sung with mony one.
Thus vp my pen and instrumentis full or
On Virgillis post I fix for evirmor,
Nevir, from thens, syk materis to discryve:
My muse sal now be cleyn contemplatyve,
And solitar, as doith the byrd in cage,
Sen fer byworn is all my childis age,
And of my days neir passyt the half dait
That natur suld me grantyn, weil I wait.
Thus sen I feill down sweyand the ballans,
Heir I resyng vp yngkeris observans:
Adew, gallandis, I geif ou all gud nycht,
And God salf euery gentill curtass wight!
Amen.
Heir endis the thretteyn and final buke of Eneados quhilk is the first correk coppy nixt efter the translation Wrytin be Master Matho Geddes scribe or writar to the translatar
EXCUSIS
Heir the translatar direkkis hys buk and excusis hym self etc.
My Lord, to our nobilyte in effect,
To quham this wark I haue abuse direct,
Gawyn, our cousyng, provest of Sanct Geill,
Gretyng in God ay lestyng, and gud heill.
Ressave gude will, quhar that my cunnyng falys,
And gyf within this volume ocht avalys,
Or is onto our plesour aggreabill,
Than is my laubour sum thyng profytabill.
Quhar I offendit, or mysteris correctioun,
Vndir our salfgard and protectioun
I me submyt; he be my scheld and defens
Aganys corruppit tungis violens,
Can nocht amend, and it a falt wald spy:
Quhen thai bakbayte, quhen evir thai clepe and cry,
Gyf neyd beys, for our kynysman and clerk
Than I protest e ansuer, and for our wark.
Gyf thai speir quhy I dyd this buke translait,
he war the causs tharof, full weill e wait;
he cawsyt me this volume to endyte,
Quharthrow I haue wrocht myself syk dispyte,
Perpetualy be chydit with ilk knak,
Full weill I knaw, and mokkyt behynd my bak.
Say thai nocht, I myne honeste haue degraid,
And at my self to schute a but hess maid?
Nane othir thyng, thai threpe, heir wrocht haue I
Bot feneit fabillys of idolatry,
With sik myscheif as aucht not namyt be,
Oppynnand the gravis of smert iniquyte,
And on the bak half wrytis wyddyr synnys
Plente of lesyngis, and ald perversyt synnys.
Quhar that I haue my tyme superexpendyt,
Mea culpa, God grant I may amend it,
With grace and space to vpset this tynsell;
Thocht not be far sa largely as thai tell,
As that me semys, it offendit haue I;
For weill I wait, our wark to mony a wy
Sall baith be plesand and eyk profitabill,
For tharin beyn seir doctrynys full notabill;
It sal eik do sum folk solace, I gess,
To pass the tyme, and eschew idylnes.
Ane othir proffit of our buke I mark,
That it salbe reput a neidfull wark
To thame wald Virgill to childryn expone;
For quha lyst note my versys, one by one,
Sall fynd tharin hys sentens euery deill,
And al maste word by word, that wait I weill.
Thank me tharfor, masteris of grammar sculys,
Quhar e syt techand on our benkis and stulys.
Thus haue I not my tyme swa occupy
That all suld hald my laubour onthryfty;
For I haue not interpryt ne translate
Every bural ruyd poet dywlgait,
Na meyn endyte, nor empty wordis vayn,
Common engyn, nor stile barbarian;
Bot in that art of eloquens the flude
Maste cheif, profund and copyus plenitud,
Surss capitall in veyn poeticall,
Soverane fontane, and flum imperiall;
Quham gif I haue offendit, as thai meyn,
Deym as e lyst, quhen the wark is ourseyn.
Be as be may, our frendschip, weill I wait,
Wrocht mair at me than dyd myne awyn estait;
For kyndnes so myne eyn almaist maid blynd,
That, ow to pleyss, I set all schame behynd,
Offeryng me to my weriouris wilfully,
Quhilk in myne e fast staris a mote to spy.
Bot quha sa lawchis heirat, or hedis noddis,
Go reid Bochas in the Genolygy of Goddis;
Hys twa last bukis sall swage thar fantasy,
Less than na resson may thame satysfy.
I rak nocht quhidder fulys hald me devill or sanct,
For ou maid I this buke, my Lord, I grant,
Nowder for pryce, det, reward nor supple,
Bot for our tendir request and amyte,
Kyndness of blude grundyt in natural law.
I am na cayk fydlar, full weill e knaw;
No thing is myne quhilk sall not owris be,
Gyf it afferis for owr nobilyte;
And of our moblys and all other geir
he will me serve siclyke, I haue na weir.
Bot as twychyng this our wark now in hand,
Quhilk oft is said was maid at our command,
To quhat effect, gyf ony wald inqueir;
he may ansuer, thocht I neid nocht ow leir,
That Virgill mycht intill our langage be
Red lowd and playn be our lordschip and me,
And other gentill companeonys quha sa lyst;
Nane ar compellit drynk not bot thai haue thryst:
And quha sa lykis may tastyng of the tun
Onforlatyt, new from t
he berry run,
Reid Virgill baldly, but mekill offens
Except our wlgar toungis differens,
Kepand na facund rethoryk castis fair,
Bot haymly playn termys famyliar,
Na thing alterit in substans the sentens,
Thocht scant perfyte observyt beyn eloquens;
I will weill otheris can say mair curyusly,
Bot I haue said eftir my fantasy,
I covait nocht to prefer ony wight,
It may suffice I said na thing bot rycht;
And, set that empty be my brayn and dull,
I haue translait a volum wondirfull:
So profund was this wark at I haue said,
Me semyt oft throw the deip sey to waid;
And sa mysty vmquhile this poecy,
My spreit was reft half deill in extasy,
To pyke the sentens as I couth als playn,
And bryng it to my purposs, was full fayn;
And thus, becauss the mater was onkowth,
Not as I suld, I wrait, bot as I couth.
Quha wenys I say thir wordis bot invane,
Lat thame assay als lang laubour agane,
And translait Ovid, as I haue Virgill;
Perchans that wark sall occupy thame a quhile:
it haue I hard oft said be men na clerkis,
Tyll idyll folk full lycht beyn lukand warkis.
To ou, my Lord, quhat is thar mair to say?
Ressaue our wark desyrit mony a day;
Quharin also now am I fully quyt,
As twichand Venus, of myn ald promyt
Quhilk I hir maid weil twelf heris tofor,
As wytnessith my Palyce of Honour,
In the quhilk wark, he reid, on hand I tuke
Forto translait at hir instance a buke:
Sa haue I doyn abufe, as e may se,
Virgillis volum of hir son Enee,
Reducit, as I cowth, intill our tong.
Be glaid, Ene, thy bell is hiely rong,
Thy faym is blaw, thy prowes and renown
Dywlgat ar, and sung fra town to town,
So hardy from thens, that other man or boy
The ony mair reput traytour of Troy,
Bot as a worthy conquerour and kyng
The honour and extoll, as thou art dyng.
My Lord, all thocht I dyd this wark compyle,
At our command, intill owr wlgar style,
Suffir me borrow this a word at the leist,
Thar with to quyte my promyss and beheste,
And lat Dame Venus have gud nycht adew,
Quhamto sum tyme he war a servand trew.
I haue alsso a schort comment compilyt
To expon strange histouris and termys wild;
And gif ocht lakis mar, quhen that is doyn,
At our desyre it salbe writtyn soyn.
And forthir, so that I be nocht prolixt,
The etern Lord, that on the ruyd was fixt,
Grant ow and ws all in this lyfe weilfair,
With euerlestand blyss quhen we hyne fair!
Amen
Quod Gawinus Dowglas etc.
Ane exclamatioun aganyst detractouris and oncurtass redaris that beyn our studyus, but occasioun, to note and spy owt faltis or offencis in this volum, or ony other thryfty warkys etc.
Now throw the deip fast to the port I mark,
For heir is endyt the lang disparyt wark,
And Virgyll hess hys volum to me lent:
In sovir raid now ankyrrit is our bark;
We dowt na storm, our cabillys ar sa stark;
We have eschapyt full mony perrellus went:
Now God belovyt hass syk grace tyl ws sent!
Sen Virgyll beys (wyd quhar in Latyn song)
Thus be my laubour red in owr wlgar tong.
Bot quhat danger is ocht to compyle, allace,
Herand thir detractouris intil euery place,
Or evir thai reid the wark, byddis byrn the buke:
Sum beyn sa frawart in malyce and wangrace,
Quhat is weill said thai love not worth ane ace,
Bot castys thame euer to spy owt falt and cruyk;
All that thai fynd in hydlys, hyrn or nuyk,
Thai blaw owt, sayand in euery manis face,
“Lo, heir he faileis, se thar he leys, luyk!”
Bot, gyf I le, lat Virgyll be owr iuge,
Hys wark is patent, I may have na refuge;
Tharby go note my faltis on by on:
No wondir is, the volum was so huge,
Quha mycht perfytely all hys hie termys luge
In barbar langage, or thame dewly expon?
Bot weill I wait, of hys sentens wantis non.
Quha can do bettir, lat se quhar I forvayt;
Begyn of new; al thing is gud onassayt.
Far eithar is, quha lyst syt doun to moyt,
Ane otheris sayaris faltis to spy and noyt,
Than but offens or falt thame self to wryte:
Bot forto chyde sum beyn so brym and hoyt,
Hald thai thar peax, the word wald scald thar throte,
And hass sik custum to iangill and to bakbyte,
That, but thai schent sum, thai suld bryst for syte.
I say na mair, quhen all thar rerd is rong,
That wight mon speke that can nocht hald hys tong.
Go, wlgar Virgill, to euery churlych wight
Say, I avow thou art translatit rycht,
Beseyk all nobillys the corect and amend,
Beys not afferyt tocum in prysaris sycht;
The nedis nocht to aschame of the lycht,
For I haue brocht thy purposs to gud end:
Now salt thou with euery gentill Scot be kend,
And to onletterit folk be red on hight,
That erst was bot with clerkis comprehend. etc.
Quod Douglas etc.
Heir followys the tyme, space and dait of the translatioun of this buke
Completyt was thys wark Virgilian
Apon the fest of Mary Magdelan,
Fra Crystis byrth, the dait quha lyst to heir,
A thousand fyve hundreth and thretteyn eir;
Quhilk, for othir gret occupatioun, lay
Onsteryt closs besyd me mony day;
And netheless, quhidder I serve thank or wyte,
Fra tyme I tharto fyrst set pen to wryte,
Thocht God wait gyf thir bundis war full wyd
To me, that had syk byssynes besyde,
Apon this wyss, as God lyst len me grace,
It was compylit in auchteyn moneth space;
Set I feil syth syk twa monethis infeir
Wrait neuer a word, nor mycht the volum steir,
For grave materis and gret solicitud,
That all sik laubour far besyde me stud.
And thus gret scant of tyme and bissy cuyr
Hass maid my wark mair subtell and obscur,
And nocht sa plesand as it aucht tobe;
Quharof he curtass redaris perdon me,
he writaris all, and gentill redaris eyk,
Offendis nocht my volum, I beseik,
Bot redis leill, and tak gud tent in tyme.
he nother maggill nor mysmetyr my ryme,
Nor alter not my wordis, I ou pray.
Lo, this is all; now, bew schirris, haue gud day. etc.
Quod Gawinus Douglas etc.
Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc Parthenope; cecini pascua, rura, duces.
Of Mantua am I beget and boir,
In Calabre decessit and forlor,
Now stant I grave in Naplys the cite,
That in my tyme wrait notabill warkis thre:
Of pasturage, and eik of husbandry,
And douchty chiftanys full of chevalry.
Quod G. Douglas etc.
The following two poems were originally inserted between Books 12 and 13 of the Aeneid.
Heir the translatour of this buk makis mensioun of thre of hys pryncipall warkis. etc.
Lo thus
, followand the flowr of poetry,
The batellys and the man translait haue I;
Quhilk oir ago in myne ondantit outh,
Onfructuus idylness fleand, as I couth,
Of Lundeys Lufe the Remeid dyd translait;
And syne off hie Honour the Palyce wrait:
“Quhen paill Aurora, with face lamentabill,
Hir russet mantill bordowrit all with sabill, &c.”
To knaw the naym of the translatour. etc.
The Gaw onbrokkyn mydlyt with the Wyne,
The Dow ionyt with the Glass rich in a lyne:
Quha knawys nocht the translatouris naym,
Seik na forthar, for lo, with litill pyne
Spy leill this verss: men clepys hym swa at haym.
Quod the compilar
THE AENEID – Dryden’s Translation
The seventeenth century poet John Dryden’s translation of The Aeneid is still considered by many to be a major translation of Virgil’s epic poem, retaining much of the power and beauty of the original Latin text, although Dryden took numerous and some significant liberties. Although not a Roman convention, Dryden also incorporated a rhyme scheme.
John Dryden (1631-1700) was an English poet, literary critic, translator and playwright, who was made Poet Laureate in 1668.
DRYDEN’S AENEID
CONTENTS
BOOK I
BOOK II
BOOK III
BOOK IV
BOOK V
BOOK VI
BOOK VII
BOOK VIII
BOOK IX
BOOK X
BOOK XI
BOOK XII
BOOK I
Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc’d by fate,
And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,
Expell’d and exil’d, left the Trojan shore.
Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore,
And in the doubtful war, before he won
The Latian realm, and built the destin’d town;
His banish’d gods restor’d to rites divine,
And settled sure succession in his line,
From whence the race of Alban fathers come,
And the long glories of majestic Rome.
O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
What goddess was provok’d, and whence her hate;
For what offense the Queen of Heav’n began
To persecute so brave, so just a man;
Involv’d his anxious life in endless cares,
Expos’d to wants, and hurried into wars!
Can heav’nly minds such high resentment show,
Or exercise their spite in human woe?
Against the Tiber’s mouth, but far away,
