An Excellent BALLAD,
ENTITUL'D,
The Wandring Prince of Troy.
To an excellent Tune, call'd, Queen Dido, etc.
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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 was 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 Dido Queen, with sumptuous feast,
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Did entertain her 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 anon 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 i' th' sky was spread,
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And he his doleful tale had told,
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as everyone lay in their 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 tydings 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 lose her life,
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in woful case she made her moan;
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And rouling 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 heart, prepare thyself to dye.
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Though reason would thou shouldst forbear,
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to stop thy hand from bloody stroak;
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Yet fancy said thou shouldst not fear,
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who fettered thee in Cupids yoak.
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Come Death, quoth she, and end the smart;
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And with these words she pierc'd her heart.
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When Death had pierc'd 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 sustain'd 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 mould was laid,
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where it consumed speedily;
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Her Sister's tears her tomb bestrew'd,
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Her Subjects grief their kindness shew'd.
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Then was AEneas in an Isle
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in Greece, where he liv'd 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 letter 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 betray'd
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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 untimely end.
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When he these lines, full fraught with gaull
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perused had, and weigh'd them right,
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His lofty courage then did fall,
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and straight appeared in his sight
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Queen Didos Ghost, both grim and pale,
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Which made this valiant Soldier quail.
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AEneas, 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 dig'st 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 took'st 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 ne'r 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 woe is me, it is in vain,
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and bootless is my dismal cry,
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Time will not be recall'd 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 pity to 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 myself 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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