Ane Lyoun at his pray wery foirrun",
To recreat his limmis and to rest,
Beikand his breist and bellie at the sone,
Under ane tree lay in the fair forrest,
Swa3 come ane trip of Myis out of thair nest,
Rycht tait and trig 10, all dansand in ane gyis ",
And ouer the Lyoun lansit 12 twyis or thrys.
He lay so still, the Myis wes nocht effeird
Bot to and fro out ouer him tuke thair trace,
Sum tirllit at the campis 13 of his beird,
Sum spairit nocht to claw him on the face;
Merie and glaid, thus dansit thay ane space,
Till at the last the nobill Lyoun woke,
And with his pow 14 the maister Mous he tuke.
Scho gaif ane cry, and all the laif1 agast
Thair dansing left, and hid thame sone allquhair ;
Scho that wes tane, cryit and weipit fast,
And said, Allace! oftymes, that scho come thair;
'Now am I tane ane wofull presonair,
And for my gilt traistis incontinent,
Of lyfe and deith to thoill the jugement.'
Than spak the Lyoun to that cairfull* Mous,
'Thou cative wretche, and vile unworthie thing,
Ouer malapert, and eik presumpteous
Thow wes, to mak out ouer me thy tripping.
Knew thow nocht weill, I wes baith lord and king
Of Beistis all?' 'Yes,' quod the Mous. I knaw;
But I misknew, because ye lay so law.
'Lord! I beseik thy kinglie royaltie,
Heir quhat I say, and tak in pacience;
Considder first my simple povertie,
And syne thy mychtie hie magnificence:
See als how thingis done of negligence,
Nouther of malice nor presumptioun,
Erar suld haif grace and remissioun.
'We wir repleit, and had grit haboundance
Of alkin' thingis, sic as to us effeird3.
The sweit sesoun provokit us to dance,
And mak sic mirth as Nature to us leird,
Ye lay so still, and law upon the eird,
That, be my saull, we wend 10 ye had bene deid,
Ellis wald we nocht haif dancit ouer your heid.'
'Thy fals excuse,' the Lyoun said agane,
'Sall nocht availl ane myte, I underta 11:
I put the case, I had bene deid or slane
And syne my skyn bene stoppit 12 full of stra,
Thocht thow had found my figure lyand swa,
Because it bair the prent of my persoun,
Thow suld for feir on knees haif fallin doun.
'For thy trespas thow sall mak na defence,
My nobill persoun thus to vilipend;
Of thy feiris, nor thy awin negligence,
For to excuse, thow can na cause pretend;
Thairfoir thow suffer sall ane schamefull end,
And deith, sic as to tressoun is decreit,
On to the gallous harlit1 be the feit.'
'A mercie, Lord! at thy gentrice2 I ase3:
As thow art king of beistis coronat*,
Sober thy wraith, and let thy yre ouerpas,
And mak thy mynd to mercy inclynat;
I grant offence is done to thyne estait,
Quhairfoir I worthie am to suffer deid,
Bot gif thy kinglie mercie reik remeid.
'In everie juge mercy and reuth suld be
As assessouris, and collaterall.
Without mercie Justice is crueltie,
As said is in the Lawis Spirituall;
Quhen rigour sittis in the tribunall,
The equitie of Law quha may sustene?
Richt few or nane, but mercie gang betwene.
Alswa ye knaw the honour triumphall
Of all victour upon the strenth dependis
Of his conqueist, quhilk manlie in battell
Throw jeopardie of weir lang defendis.
Quhat price or loving' quhen the battell endis
Is said of him, that ouercummis ane man
Him Ito defend quhilk nouther may nor can?
'Ane thousand myis to kill, and eke devoir,
Is lytill manheid to ane strong Lyoun;
Full lytill worschip haif ye wyn thairfoir,
To quhais strenth is na comparisoun :
It will degraid some part of your renoun,
To slay ane Mous quhilk may mak na defence,
Bot askand mercie at your Excellence.
Also, it semis1 nocht your celsitude 2,
Quhilk usis daylie meittis delitious,
To syle your teith, or lippis, with my blude,
Quhilk to your stomok is contagious :
Unhailsum meit is of ane sairie3 Mous,
And that namelie untill ane strang Lyoun
Wont till be fed with gentill vennisoun.
'My lyfe is lytill worth, my deith is less,
Yet and I leif, I may peradventure
Supple your Hienes beand in destres;
For oft is sene, ane man of small stature
Reskewit hes ane Lord of hie honour,
Keipit that wes in point to be ouerthrawin 5,
Throw misfortune. Sie cace may be your awin.'
Quhen this was said, the Lyoun his language
Paissit, and thocht according to ressoun,
And gart' mercie his cruell yre asswage,
And to the Mous grantit remissioun,
Opinnit his pow, and scho on kneis fell doun,
And baith his handis unto the hevin upheld,
Cryand 'Almychtie God, mot you foryeild®!'
Quhen scho wes gone, the Lyoun held to hunt,
For he had nocht, bot levit on his pray,
And slew baith tayme and wylde, as he wes wont,
And in the cuntrie maid ane greit deray";
Till at the last, the pepill fand the way
This cruell Lyoun how that they mycht tak,
Of hempyn cordis strang nettis couth thay mak.
And in ane rod, quhair he wes wont to ryn,
With raipis rude fra tre to tre it band:
Syne kest ane range on raw the wod 10 within,
With hornis blast, and kennettis" fast calland:
The Lyoun fled, and throw the rone 12 rynnand,
5 that was just upon the point of being overthrown.
Almighty God reward you. 9 disorder.
12 scrub.
Fell in the nett, and hankit1 fute and heid,
For all his strenth he couth mak na remeid,
Welterand about with hiddeous rummissing",
Quhyles to, quhyles fra, gif he mycht succour get;
Bot all in vane, it vailyeit him na thing,
The mair he flang3, the safter wes the net;
The raipis rude wes sa about him plet*,
On everilk syde, that succour saw he none,
Bot still lyand, and murnand maid his mone.
'O lamit Lyoun! liggand heir sa law,
Quhair is the mycht of magnificence?
Of quhome all brutall beistes in eird stude awo,
And dreid to luke upon thy excellence!
But hoip or help, but succour or defence,
In bandis strang heir mon I ly, allace!
Till I be slane-I see nane uther grace.
'Thair is na wy that will my harmis wreck,
Nor creature do confort to my croun;
Quha sall me bute 10? quha sall my bandis brek?
Quha sall me put fra pane of this presoun?'—
Be" he had mide this lamentatioun,
Throw aventure 12 the lytill Mous come neir,
And of the Lyoun hard the pietuous beir 13.
And suddandlie it come in till hir mynd
That it suld be the Lyoun did hir grace,
And said, 'Now were I fals, and richt unkynd,
But gif I quit sum part of thy gentrace
Thow did to me:' and on this way scho gais
To hir fellowis, and on thame fast can cry,
'Cum help, cum help;' and they come all in hy15.
'Lo!' quod the Mous, 'this is the samin Lyoun
That grantit grace to me quhen I wes tane;
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