From Scottish Poems, edited by Gerard CarruthersA TRANSLATOR'S LAMENT
"Why suld I then, with dull forheid and vain,
With rude ingine and barren emptive brain.
With bad harsh speech and lewit babour tongue,
Presume to write whare thy sweet bell is rung,
Or counterfeit sa precious wordis dear?
Na, na, nocht swa, bot kneel when I them hear."
From Eneados, or The Prologue to the First Book of the Aeneid, by Gavin Douglas
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