An Excellent BALLAD, ENTITUL'D, The Wandring Prince of Troy,
To an excellent Tune, call'd, Queen Dido, &c.
WHen
Troy town for ten years wars,
withstood the Greeks in manful wise,
Then did their Foes increase so fast,
that to resist none could suffice:
Wast lies those walls that was so good,
And corn now grows where
Troy town stood.
Aeneas, wandring Prince of
Troy,
when he for Land long time had sought,
At length arrived with great joy,
to mighty
Carthage walls was brought;
Where
Dido Queen, with sumptuous feast,
Did entertain her wandring Guest.
And as in hall at meat they sat,
the Queen desirous news to hear,
Of thy unhappy ten years wars,
declare to me, thou Trojan dear,
Thy heavy hap, and chance so bad,
That thou poor wandring Prince hast had?
And then anon this worthy Knight,
with words demure, as he could well,
Of his unhappy ten years wars
so true a tale began to tell;
With words so sweet, and sighs so deep,
That oft he made them all to weep.
And then a thousand sighs he fetcht,
and every sigh brought tears amain,
That where he sat the place was wet,
as if he had seen those wars again:
So that the Queen with truth therefore,
Said,
Worthy Prince, enough no more.
The darksome night apace grew on,
and twinkling stars i'th' sky was spread,
And he his doleful tale had told,
as every one lay in their bed,
Where they full sweetly took their rest,
Save only
Dido's boyling breast;
This silly Woman never slept,
but in her chamber all alone,
As one unhappy always kept,
unto the wall she made her moan,
That she should still desire in vain,
The thing that she could not obtain.
And thus in grief she spent the night,
till twinkling stars from skies were fled,
And
Phoebus with his glimering beams
through misty clouds appeared red:
Then tydings came to her anon,
That all the Trojan ships were gone.
And then the Queen with bloody knife,
did arm her heart as hard as stone,
Yet somewhat loath to lose her life,
in woful case she made her moan;
And rouling on her careful bed,
With sighs and sobs these words she said,
O wretched
Dido, Queen!
quoth she,
I see thy end approacheth near;
For he is gone away from thee,
whom thou didst love and hold so dear:
Is he then gone, and passed by?
O heart, prepare thy self to dye.
Though reason would thou shouldst forbear,
to stop thy hand from bloody stroak;
Yet fancy said thou shoulst not fear,
who fettered thee in
Cupid's yoak.
Come Death,
quoth she, and end the smart;
And with these words she pierc'd her heart.
When Death had pierc'd the tender heart
of
Dido, Carthagenian Queen,
And bloody knife did end the smart,
which she sustain'd in woful teen:
Eneas being shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her moan.
Her funeral most costly made,
and all things finisht mournfully,
Her body fine in mould was laid,
where it consumed speedily;
Her Sister's tears her tomb bestrew'd,
Her Subjects grief their kindness shew'd.
Then was
Aeneas in an Isle
in
Greece, where he liv'd long space;
Whereas her Sister in short time
writ to him to his foul disgrace;
In phrase of letter to her mind,
She told him plain he was unkind:
False-hearted Wretch,
quoth she, thou art,
and treacherously thou hast betray'd
Vnto thy lure a gentle Heart,
which unto thee such welcome made:
My Sister dear, and
Carthage Joy,
Whose folly wrought her dire annoy.
Yet on her death-bed when she lay,
she prayed for thy prosperity,
Beseeching God, that every day
might breed thee great felicity.
Thus by thy means I lost a Friend;
Heavens send thee untimely end.
When he these lines, full fraught with gaull,
perused had, and weigh'd them right,
His lofty courage then did fall,
and straight appeared in his sight
Queen
Dido's Ghost, both grim and pale,
Which made this valiant Soldier quail.
Aeneas,
quoth this grifly Ghost,
my whole Delight, while I did live,
Thee of all Men I loved most,
my fancy and my will did give:
For entertainment I thee gave.
Vnthankfully thou dig'st my grave:
Therefore prepare thy fleeting soul
to wander with me in the air,
Where deadly grief shall make it howl,
because of me thou took'st no care:
Delay no time, thy glass is run,
Thy day is past, thy death is come.
O stay a while, thou lovely Spright,
be not so ready to convey
My soul into eternal night,
where it shall ne'r behold bright day:
O do not frown! thy angry look,
Hath made my breath my life forsook.
But woe is me, it is in vain,
and bootless is my dismal cry,
Time will not be recall'd again,
nor you surcease before I dye▪
O let me live to make amends,
Unto some of thy dearest Friends.
But seeing thou obdurate art,
and will no pity to me show,
Because from thee I did depart,
and left unpaid what I did owe▪
I must content my self to take
What lot thou wilt with me partake▪
And like one being in a trance,
a multitude of ugly Fiend
[...]
About this woful Prince did dance,
no help he had of any Friends:
His body then they took away,
And no Man knew his dying-day.
Enter'd according to Order.
LONDON: Printed by and for W. O. and sold by Y. Wa [...] at the Hand and Pen in High Holbourn.