A proper new Ballad, intituled, The Wandring Prince of Troy
To the the tune of Queene Dido.
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WHen Troy towne for ten yeeres wars
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withstood the Greeks in manfull wise,
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Yet did their foes increase so fast,
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that to resist none could suffice.
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Wast lye those walls that were so good,
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And corne now growes where Troy Towne stood.
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Eneas wandring Prince of Troy,
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when he for land long time had sought,
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At length arrived with great joy,
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to mighty Carthage walls was brought:
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Where Dido Queene with sumptuous feast
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Did entertaine this wandring Guest.
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And as in hall at meate they sate,
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the Queene desirous newes to heare,
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Of thy unhappy ten yeeres wars,
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declare to me thou Troyan deare,
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The heavy hap and chance so bad
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That thou poore wandring Prince hast had.
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And then anon this comely Knight,
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with words demure as he could well,
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Of his unhappy ten yeeres wars
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so true a tale began to tell,
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With words so sweet and sighes so deepe,
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That oft he made them all to weepe.
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And then a thousand sighes he fetcht,
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and every sigh brought teares amaine,
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That where he sate the place was wet,
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as he had seene those wars againe:
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So that the Queene with ruth therefore,
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Said worthy Prince enough, no more.
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The darkesome night apace grew on,
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and twinkling stars in Skies were spred,
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And he his dolefull tale had told,
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and every one was laid in bed,
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Where they full sweetly tooke their rest
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Save onely Didoes boyling brest.
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This silly woman never slept,
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but in her chamber all alone,
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As one unhappy alwaies wept,
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and to the walls she made her moane,
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That she should still desire in vaine,
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The thing that she could not obtaine.
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And thus in griefe she spent the night,
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till twinkling stars from Sky were fled,
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And Phoebus with his glittring beames
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through misty cloudes appeared red,
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Then tidings came to her anon,
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That all the Troyan ships were gone.
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And then the Queene with bloody knife,
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did arme her heart as hard as stone,
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Yet somewhat loth to lose her life,
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in wofull wise she made her moane,
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And rowling on her carefull bed
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With sighes and sobs these words she said:
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O wretched Dido Queene (quoth she)
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I see thy end approaching neere,
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For he is gone away from thee
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whom thou didst love and held so deare,
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Is he then gone and passed by,
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O heart prepare thy selfe to dye.
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Though reason would thou shouldst forbeare
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and stay thy hand from bloody stroak,
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Yet fancy sayes thou shouldst not feare,
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whom fettereth thee in Cupids yoake:
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Come death (quoth she) resolve my smart
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And with these words she pierc'd her heart.
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The second part. To the same tune.
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WHen death had pierc'd the tender heart
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of Dido Carthagenian Queene,
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And bloody knife did end the smart,
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which she sustaind in wofull teene,
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Eneas being shipt and gone,
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Whose flattery caused all her moane.
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Her Funerall most costly made,
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and all things furnisht mournefully,
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Her body fine in mould was laid,
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where it consumed speedily:
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Her sisters teares her tombe bestrow'd,
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Her subjects griefe their kindness show'd.
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Then was Eneas in an Ile
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in Grecia, where he liv'd long space,
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Whereas her Sister in the short while
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writ to him to his vile disgrace,
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In phrase of Letters to her minde,
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She told him plaine he was unkinde.
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False hearted wretch (quoth she) thou art,
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and traiterously thou hast betraid,
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Unto thy lure a gentle heart,
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which unto thee such welcome made,
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My sister deare, and Carthage joy,
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Whose folly bred her dire annoy.
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Yet on her death-bed when she lay
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she prayed for thy prosperity,
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Beseeching heaven that every day
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might breed thy great felicity:
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Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend,
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Heaven send thee such untimely end.
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When he these lines full fraught with gall,
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perused had and weigh'd them well,
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His lofty courage then did faile,
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and straight appeared in his sight,
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Queene Didoes Ghost both grim and pale,
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Which made this gallant Souldier quaile.
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Eneas (quoth this grisly Ghost)
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my whole delight while I did live,
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Thee of all men I loved most,
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my fancy and my will did give,
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For entertainment I thee gave,
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Unthankfully thou digst my grave.
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Wherefore prepare thy fliting soule
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to wonder with me in the ayre,
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Where deadly griefe shall make it houle
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because of me thou tookst no care:
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Delay no time, the Glasse run,
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Thy date is past, and death is come.
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O stay a while thou lovely sprite,
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be not so hasty to convey
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My soule into eternall night,
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where it shall nere behold bright day,
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O doe not frowne, thy angry looke,
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Hath made my breath my life forsooke.
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But woe to me, it is in vaine,
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and bootlesse is my dismall cry,
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Time will not be recall'd againe,
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nor thou surcease before I dye,
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O let me live to make amends
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Unto some of thy dearest friends.
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But seeing thou obdurate art,
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and wilt no pitty on me show,
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Because from thee I did depart,
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and left unpaid what I did owe,
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I must content my selfe to take
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What lot thou wilt with me partake.
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And like one being in a trance,
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a multitude of ugly Fiends,
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About this woefull Prince did dance,
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no helpe he had of any friends,
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His body then they tooke away,
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And no man knew his dying day.
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