A Proper new Ballad, Intituled, the Wandring Prince
of Troy. To the tune of, Queene Dido.
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WHen Troy Town for ten yeares war,
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withstood the Greeks in manfull 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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Waste lye those wals 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 fought,
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At length arrived with great joy,
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to mighty Carthage wals was brought:
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Where Dido's Queene with sumptuous Feast
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Did entertaine this wandring Guest.
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And as in Hall at Meat they sate,
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the Queene desirous Newes to heare,
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Of thy unhappy ten yeares Warrs,
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declare to me thou Trojan deare:
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Thy 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 yeares Warrs,
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so true a Tale began to tell:
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With words so sweet, and sighs so deepe,
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As oft he made them all to weepe.
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And then a thousand sighs 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 if 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 darksome night apace grew on,
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and twinkling stars in skyes were spread,
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And he his dolefull tale had told,
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as every one lay in his bed:
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Where they full sweetly tooke their rest,
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Save onely Dido's 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 alwayes kept,
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and to the wals she made her moane:
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That she should still desire in vaine,
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The thing which she could not obtaine.
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And thus in griefe she spent the night,
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till twinkling stars from skyes are fled,
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And Phoebus with his glistring beames,
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throogh 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 Queene with bloody knife,
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did arme her heart as hard as stone,
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Yet some-what loath to loose 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 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 approaching neere,
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For he is gone away from thee,
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whom thou dost love and hold so deare:
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Is he then gone, and passed by.
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O heart prepare thy selfe to die.
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Though reason would thou shouldst forbeare,
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to stop thy hands from bloody stroke,
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Yet fancy sayes, thou shouldst not feare
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who fettered thee in Cupids yoake:
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Come death (quoth she) and end my smart,
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And with those words she pierc't her heart.
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The second part, to the same tune.
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WHen death had pierc't the tender heart
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of Dido, Carthaginian Queene,
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And bloody knife did end the smart,
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which she sustain'd in wofull teene;
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AEneas 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 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 teares her tombe bestrew'd,
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Her subjects griefes their kindnesse shewd.
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Then was AEneas in an Isle,
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in Grecia where he liv'd long space,
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Whereas her Sister in short while
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writ to him to his foule disgrace:
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In phraise of Letters to her mind,
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She told him plaine he was unkind.
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False-hearted wretch (quoth she) thou art,
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and trayterously 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 deare and Carthage joy.
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Whole folly bred her dire annoy.
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Yet on her Death-bed when she lay,
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she pray'd 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 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 right,
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His lofty courage then did faile,
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and streight appeared in his sight
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Queene Dido's Ghost both grim and pale,
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Which made this valiant Souldier quaile.
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AEneas quoth this grisly Ghost,
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my whole delight while I did live,
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Thou 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 fleeting Soule
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to wander with me in the ayre,
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Where deadly griefe shall make it houle,
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because of me thou took'st no care:
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Delay no time, thy glasse is run,
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Thy date is past, and death is come.
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O stay a while thou lovely Spright,
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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 ne'r behold bright day:
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O doe not frown, 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 recal'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 my 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 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 wofull 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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