An excellent Ballad, Intituled, The Wandring Prince of Troy.
To the Tune of, Queen Dido.
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WHen Troy Town for ten years Wars,
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withstood the Greeks in manful wise,
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Then did their foes increase so fast,
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that to resist none could suffice:
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Wast lies those walls that were so good,
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And corn now grows where Troy town stood.
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AEneas 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 Didos Queen with sumptuous feast,
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Did entertain this wandring guest.
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And as in Hall at meat they sat,
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the Queen desirous news to hear,
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Of thy unhappy ten years wars,
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declare to me thou Trojan dear,
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Thy heavy hap and chance so bad,
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That thou poor wandring Prince hast had.
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And then annon this worthy Knight,
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with words demure as he could well,
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Of his unhappy ten years wars,
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so true a tale began to tell;
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With words so sweet, and sighs so deep,
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That oft he made them all to weep.
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And then a thousand sighs he fetcht,
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and every sigh brought tears amain,
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That where he sat the place was wet,
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as if he had seen those wars again:
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So that the Queen with truth therefore,
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Said, Worthy Prince enough no more.
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The darksome night apace grew on,
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And twinkling Stars, tch skies were spread
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till he his doleful tale had told,
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as every one lay in his bed;
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Where they full sweetly took their rest,
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Save only Didos boyling breast.
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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 always kept,
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unto the wall she made her moan,
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That she should still desire in vain.
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The thing that she could not obtain.
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And thus in grief she spent the night,
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till twinkling stars from skies were fled,
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And Phoebus with his glimering beams,
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through misty clouds appeared red:
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Then tidings came to her anon
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That all the Trojan ships were gone.
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And then the Queen with bloody knife,
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did arm her heart as hard as stone,
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Yet somewhat loath to loose her life,
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in woful case she made her moan;
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And rowling on her careful bed,
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With sighs and sobs these words she said.
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O wretched Dido Queen quoth she,
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I see thy end approacheth near,
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For he is gone away from thee,
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whom thou didst love and hold so dear;
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Is he then gone and passed by?
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O heare prepare thy self to dye.
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Though reason would thou shouldst forbear,
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to stop thy hand from bloody stroke,
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Yet fancy said thou shouldst not fear,
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who fettered thee in Cupids yoke:
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Come death, quoth she, and end the smart,
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And with these words, she piercd her heart.
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WHen death had piercd the tender heart
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of Dido Carthagenian Queen,
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And bloody knife did end the smart
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which she sustaind in woful teen:
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AEneas being Shipt and gone,
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Whose flattery caused all her moan.
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Her Funeral most costly made,
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and all things finisht mournfully,
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Her body fine in mold was laid,
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where it consumed speedily:
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Her Sisters tears her tomb bestrewd,
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Her Subjects grief their kindness shewd.
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Then was AEneas in an Isle
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in Grecia, where he livd long space,
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Whereas her Sister in short time,
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writ to him to his foul disgrace:
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In phrase of Letters to her mind,
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She told him plain he was unkind.
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False-hearted wretch, quoth she, thou art,
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and treacherously thou hast betrayd,
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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 dear, and Carthage joy,
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Whose folly wrought 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 God that every day
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might breed thee great felicity:
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Thus by thy means I lost a friend,
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Heavens send thee such untimely end.
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When he these lines, full fraught with gall,
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perused had, and weighd them right,
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His lofty courage then did fall,
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and streight appeared in his sight,
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Queen Didos Ghost both grim and pale,
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Which made this valiant Soulder quail.
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AEneas, quoth
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my whole delight while I did
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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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Therefore prepare thy fleeting soul
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to wander with me in the air,
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Where deadly grief shall make it howl,
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because of me thou tookst no care;
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Delay no time, thy glass is run,
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Thy day is past, thy death is come.
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O stay a while thou lovely spright,
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be not so ready to convey,
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My soul into eternal night,
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where it shall ner behold bright day:
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O do not frown! thy angry look,
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Hath made my breath my life forsook.
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But wo is me, it is in vain,
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and bootless is my dismal cry,
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Time will not be recalld again,
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nor you 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 will 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 ow:
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I must content my self 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 woful Prince did dance,
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no help he had of any friends:
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His body then they took away,
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And no man knew his dying day.
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