Armipotent lady, Bellona serene,
Goddes of wisdome and jeoperdyis of were
[703],
Sister of Mars, and ledare of his rene.
And of his batallis awfull messingere!
Thy werelyke trumpett thounder in mine ere—
The horribill battellis and the bludy harmes—
To write of Romanis, the nobil men of armes.
And bricht Appollo with thy cours eterne,
That makis the frutis spring on every ground,
And with thy mychty influence dois governe
The twynkland sternes about the mappamound
[704]!
Thy fyry visage on my vers diffound
[705],
And quikin the spretis of my dull ingine
[706]
And ye my soverane be line continewall,
Ay cum of kingis your progenitouris,
And writis in ornate stile poeticall
Quik-flowand vers of rethorik cullouris,
Sa freschlie springand in youre lusty flouris
To the grete comforte of all trew Scottismen,
Be now my muse and ledare of my pen!
That be youre helpe and favoure gracius
I may be abill, as ye commandit me,
To follow the prince of storie, Livius,
Quhais curious ressouns tonit ar so hie.
And every sens sa full of majeste
That so he passes uther stories all,
As silver Diane dois the sternis
[709] small.
For I intend of this difficill werk
To mak ane end or I my lauboure stint
[710],
War not the passage and stremes ar sa stark
[711],
Quhare I have salit, full of crag and clynt
[712],
That ruddir and takillis of my schip ar tynt
[713];
And thus my schip, without ye mak support
Wil peris lang or
[714] it cum to the port.