Towart the evyn, amyd the symmyris heit, 
Quhen in the Crab Appollo held hys sete, 
Duryng the ioyus moneth tyme of June, 
As gone neir was the day and supper doyn, 
I walkyt furth abowt the feildis tyte, 
Quhilkis tho replenyst stud full of delyte, 
With herbys, cornys, catal, and frute treis, 
Plente of stoir, byrdis and byssy beys, 
In amerant medis fleand est and west, 
Eftir laubour to tak the nychtis rest. 
And as I lukit on the lift me by, 
All byrnand red gan walxin the evyn sky: 
The son enfyrit haill, as to my sight, 
Quhirlit about hys ball with bemys brycht, 
Declynand fast towart the north in deid, 
And fyry Phegon, his dun nychtis steid, 
Dowkit hys hed sa deip in fludis gray 
That Phebus rollis doun vndir hell away; 
And Esperus in the west with bemys brycht 
Vpspryngis, as forrydar of the nycht. 
Amyd the hawchis, and euery lusty vaill, 
The recent dew begynnys doun to scaill, 
To meyss the byrnyng quhar the son had schyne, 
Quhilk tho was to the neddir warld declyne: 
At euery pilis poynt and cornys croppis 
The techrys stude, as lemand beryall droppis, 
And on the hailsum herbis, cleyn but wedis, 
Lyke cristal knoppis or smal siluer bedis. 
The lyght begouth to quynchyng owt and faill, 
The day to dyrkyn, declyne and devaill; 
The gummys rysis, doun fallis the donk rym, 
Baith heir and thar scuggis and schaddois dym. 
Vpgois the bak with hir pelit ledderyn flycht, 
The lark discendis from the skyis hycht, 
Syngand hir complyng sang, efter hir gyss, 
To tak hir rest, at matyn hour to ryss. 
Owt our the swyre swymmys the soppis of myst, 
The nycht furthspred hir cloke with sabill lyst, 
That all the bewte of the fructuus feld 
Was with the erthis vmbrage cleyn ourheld; 
Baith man and beste, fyrth, flude and woddis wild 
Involuyt in tha schaddois warryn syld. 
Still war the fowlis fleis in the air, 
All stoir and catall seysit in thar lair, 
And euery thing, quharso thame lykis best, 
Bownys to tak the hailsum nychtis rest 
Eftir the days laubour and the heyt. 
Closs warryn all and at thar soft quyet, 
But sterage or removing, he or sche, 
Owder best, byrd, fysch, fowle, by land or sey. 
And schortlie, euery thing that doith repar 
In firth or feild, flude, forest, erth or ayr, 
Or in the scroggis, or the buskis ronk, 
Lakis, marrasis, or thir pulys donk, 
Astabillit lyggis still to slepe, and restis; 
Be the smaill byrdis syttand on thar nestis, 
The litill mygeis, and the vrusum fleys, 
Laboryus emmotis, and the bissy beys; 
Als weill the wild as the taym bestiall, 
And euery othir thingis gret and small, 
Owtak the mery nychtgaill, Philomeyn, 
That on the thorn sat syngand fra the spleyn; 
Quhais myrthfull notis langyng fortil heir, 
Ontill a garth vndir a greyn lawrer 
I walk onon, and in a sege down sat, 
Now musyng apon this and now on that. 
I se the poill, and eik the Vrsis brycht, 
And hornyt Lucyn castand bot dym lycht, 
Becauss the symmyr skyis schayn sa cleir; 
Goldyn Venus, the mastres of the ȝeir, 
And gentill Iove, with hir participate, 
Thar bewtuus bemys sched in blyth estait: 
That schortly, thar as I was lenyt doun, 
For nychtis silens, and this byrdis sovn, 
On sleip I slaid, quhar sone I saw appeir 
Ane agit man, and said: "Quhat dois thou heir 
Vndyr my tre, and willyst me na gude?" 
Me thocht I lurkit vp vnder my hude 
To spy this ald, that was als stern of spech 
As he had beyn ane medicyner or lech; 
And weill persavit that hys weid was strange, 
Tharto so ald, that it had not beyn change, 
Be my consait, fully that fourty ȝeir, 
For it was threidbair into placis seir; 
Syde was this habyt, round, and closyng meit, 
That strekit to the grund doun our his feit; 
And on his hed of lawrer tre a crown, 
Lyke to sum poet of the ald fasson. 
Me thocht I said to hym with reuerens: 
"Fader, gif I haue done ȝou ony offens, 
I sall amend, gif it lyis in my mycht: 
Bot suythfastly, gyf I haue perfyte sycht, 
Onto my doym, I, saw ȝou nevir ayr, 
Fayn wald wyt quhen, on quhat wyss, or quhar, 
Aganyst ȝou trespassit ocht haue I." 
"Weill," quod the tother, "wald thou mercy cry 
And mak amendis, I sal remyt this falt; 
Bot, other ways, that sete salbe full salt. 
Knawis thou not Mapheus Vegius, the poet, 
That onto Virgillis lusty bukis sweit 
The thretteyn buke ekit Eneadan? 
I am the sammyn, and of the na thyng fayn, 
That hess the tother twelf into thy tong 
Translait of new, thai may be red and song 
Our Albyon ile into ȝour wlgar leid; 
Bot to my buke ȝit lyst the tak na heid." 
"Mastir," I said, "I heir weill quhat ȝhe say, 
And in this cace of perdon I ȝou pray, 
Not that I haue ȝou ony thing offendit, 
Bot rathir that I haue my tyme mysspendit, 
So lang on Virgillis volume forto stair, 
And laid on syde full mony grave mater, 
That, wald I now write in that trety mor, 
Quhat suld folk deym bot all my tyme forlor? 
Als, syndry haldis, fader, trastis me, 
ȝour buke ekit but ony necessite, 
As to the text accordyng neuer a deill, 
Mair than langis to the cart the fift quheill. 
Thus, sen ȝhe beyn a Cristyn man, at large 
Lay na sik thing, I pray ȝou, to my charge; 
It may suffyss Virgill is at ane end. 
I wait the story of Iherom is to ȝou kend, 
Quhou he was dung and beft intill hys sleip, 
For he to gentilis bukis gaif sik keip. 
Full scharp repreif to sum is write, ȝe wist, 
In this sentens of the haly Psalmyst: 
'Thai ar corruppit and maid abhominabill 
In thar studeyng thyngis onprofitabill': 
Thus sair me dredis I sal thoill a heit, 
For the grave study I haue so long forleit." 
"ȝa, smy," quod he, "wald thou eschape me swa? 
In faith we sall nocht thus part or we ga! 
Quhou think we he essonȝeis hym to astart, 
As all for consciens and devoit hart, 
Fenȝeand hym Iherom forto contyrfeit, 
Quhar as he lyggis bedovyn, lo, in sweit! 
I lat the wyt I am nane hethyn wight, 
And gif thou hass afortyme gayn onrycht, 
Followand sa lang Virgill, a gentile clerk, 
Quhy schrynkis thou with my schort Cristyn wark? 
For thocht it be bot poetry we say, 
My buke and Virgillis morall beyn, bath tway: 
Len me a fourteyn nycht, how evir it be, 
Or, be the faderis sawle me gat," quod he, 
"Thou salt dier by that evir thou Virgill knew." 
And, with that word, doun of the sete me drew, 
Syne to me with hys club he maid a braid, 
And twenty rowtis apon my riggyng laid, 
Quhill, "Deo, Deo, mercy," dyd I cry, 
And, be my rycht hand strekit vp inhy, 
Hecht to translait his buke, in honour of God 
And hys Apostolis twelf, in the numbir od. 
He, glaid tharof, me by the hand vptuke, 
Syne went away, and I for feir awoik 
And blent abowt to the north est weill far, 
Saw gentill Iubar schynand, the day star, 
And Chiron, clepit the syng of Sagittary, 
That walkis the symmyrris nycht, to bed gan cary. 
ȝondyr dovn dwynys the evyn sky away, 
And vpspryngis the brycht dawyng of day 
Intill ane other place nocht far in sundir 
That tobehald was plesans, and half wondir. 
Furth quynchyng gan the starris, on be on, 
That now is left bot Lucifer allon. 
And forthirmor to blason this new day, 
Quha mycht discryve the byrdis blisfull bay? 
Belyve on weyng the bissy lark vpsprang, 
To salus the blyth morrow with hir sang; 
Sone our the feildis schynys the lycht cleir, 
Welcum to pilgrym baith and lauborer; 
Tyte on hys hynys gaif the greif a cry, 
>"Awaik on fut, go till our husbandry." 
And the hyrd callis furth apon hys page, 
"Do dryve the catall to thar pasturage." 
The hynys wife clepis vp Katheryn and Gill; 
"ȝa, dame," said thai, "God wait, with a gude will." 
The dewy greyn, pulderit with daseis gay, 
Schew on the sward a cullour dapill gray; 
The mysty vapouris spryngand vp full sweit, 
Maist confortabill to glaid all manis spreit; 
Tharto, thir byrdis syngis in the schawys, 
As menstralis playng "The ioly day now dawys." 
Than thocht I thus: I will my cunnand kepe, 
I will not be a daw, I will not slepe, 
I wil compleit my promyss schortly, thus 
Maid to the poet master Mapheus, 
And mak vpwark heirof, and cloyss our buke, 
That I may syne bot on grave materis luke: 
For, thocht hys stile be nocht to Virgill lyke, 
Full weill I wayt my text sall mony like, 
Sen eftir ane my tung is and my pen, 
Quhilk may suffyss as for our wlgar men. 
Quha evir in Latyn hess the bruyt or glor, 
I speke na wers than I haue doyn befor: 
Lat clerkis ken the poetis different, 
And men onletterit to my wark tak tent; 
Quhilk, as twiching this thretteynt buke infeir, 
Begynnys thus, as furthwith followis heir.