Eagle and the Robin Redbreast
The Prince of all the fethert kind,
That with spred wings outflees the wind,
And tours far out of human sicht,
To view the schynand orb of licht:
This ryall bird, tho' braif and great,
And armit strang for stern debait,
Nae tyrant is, but condescends
Aftymes to treit inferiour friends.
Ane day, at his command did flock
To his hie palace on a rock,
The courtiers of ilk various syze
That swiftly swim in christal skyis.
Thither the valiant Tersals doup,
And heir rapacious Corbies croup,
With greidy Gleds, and slie Gormahs,
And dinsome Pyis, and clatterin Daws;
Proud Pecocks, and a hundred mae,
Bruscht up thair pens that solemn day,
Bowd first submissive to my lord,
Then tuke thair places at his borde.
Mein tyme, quhyle feisting on a fawn,
And drinking blude frae lamies drawn,
A tunefull Robin trig and zung
Hard by upon a bour-tree sung.
He sang the Eagle's ryall lyne,
His persing ee and richt divyne
To sway out owre the fetherit thrang,
Quha dreid his martial bill and fang:
His flicht sublime, and eild renewit,
His mynd with clemencie endewit;
In safter notes he sang his luve;
Mair hie, his beiring bolts for Jove.
The monarch bird with blythness hard
The chaunting litil silvan bard,
Calit up a buzart, quha was than
His favourite and chamberlane.
“Swith to my treasury,” quod he,
“And to zon canty Robin gie
“As meikle of our currant geir
“As may mentain him throw the zeir;
“We can weil spair 't, and it 's his due.”
He bad, and furth the Judas flew
Straight to the bench quhair Robin sung,
And with a wickit lieand tung
Said, “Ah! ze sing sae dull and ruch,
“Ze haif deivt our lugs mair than enuch;
“His majestie hes a nyse eir,
“And nae mair of zour stuff can beir;
“Poke up your pypes, be nae mair sene
“At court; I warn ze as a frein.”
He spak, quhyle Robinis swelling breist,
And drouping wings, his greif exprest;
The teirs ran happing doun his cheik,
Grit grew his hairt, he coud nocht speik,
No for the tinsell of rewaird,
But that his notis met nae regaird.
Straicht to the schaw he spred his wing,
Resolvit again nae mair to sing,
Quhair princelie bountie is supprest
By sic with quhome they ar opprest,
Quha cannot beir, because they want it,
That ocht suld be to merit grantit.
That with spred wings outflees the wind,
And tours far out of human sicht,
To view the schynand orb of licht:
This ryall bird, tho' braif and great,
And armit strang for stern debait,
Nae tyrant is, but condescends
Aftymes to treit inferiour friends.
Ane day, at his command did flock
To his hie palace on a rock,
The courtiers of ilk various syze
That swiftly swim in christal skyis.
Thither the valiant Tersals doup,
And heir rapacious Corbies croup,
With greidy Gleds, and slie Gormahs,
And dinsome Pyis, and clatterin Daws;
Proud Pecocks, and a hundred mae,
Bruscht up thair pens that solemn day,
Bowd first submissive to my lord,
Then tuke thair places at his borde.
Mein tyme, quhyle feisting on a fawn,
And drinking blude frae lamies drawn,
A tunefull Robin trig and zung
Hard by upon a bour-tree sung.
He sang the Eagle's ryall lyne,
His persing ee and richt divyne
To sway out owre the fetherit thrang,
Quha dreid his martial bill and fang:
His flicht sublime, and eild renewit,
His mynd with clemencie endewit;
In safter notes he sang his luve;
Mair hie, his beiring bolts for Jove.
The monarch bird with blythness hard
The chaunting litil silvan bard,
Calit up a buzart, quha was than
His favourite and chamberlane.
“Swith to my treasury,” quod he,
“And to zon canty Robin gie
“As meikle of our currant geir
“As may mentain him throw the zeir;
“We can weil spair 't, and it 's his due.”
He bad, and furth the Judas flew
Straight to the bench quhair Robin sung,
And with a wickit lieand tung
Said, “Ah! ze sing sae dull and ruch,
“Ze haif deivt our lugs mair than enuch;
“His majestie hes a nyse eir,
“And nae mair of zour stuff can beir;
“Poke up your pypes, be nae mair sene
“At court; I warn ze as a frein.”
He spak, quhyle Robinis swelling breist,
And drouping wings, his greif exprest;
The teirs ran happing doun his cheik,
Grit grew his hairt, he coud nocht speik,
No for the tinsell of rewaird,
But that his notis met nae regaird.
Straicht to the schaw he spred his wing,
Resolvit again nae mair to sing,
Quhair princelie bountie is supprest
By sic with quhome they ar opprest,
Quha cannot beir, because they want it,
That ocht suld be to merit grantit.
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