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Such is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. to this excellent old ballad, which, in the common printed copies, is inscribed, ENEAS, WANDERING Prince of Troy. It is here given from that MS. collated with two different printed copies, both in black-letter, in the Pepys collection.

The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting simplicity, our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion on the classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is probable he had it not. Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt out his poetical justice with a more impartial hand than that celebrated poet.

Wuen Troy towne had, for ten yeeres “ past,

Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise,
Then did their foes encrease soe fast,

That to resist none could suffice:
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good,
And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode.


Æneas, wandering prince of Troy,

When he for land long time had sought, At length arriving with great joy,

To mighty Carthage walls was brought ; Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast, Did entertaine that wandering guest.


Ver. 1. 21, war. MS, and PP.



And, as in hall at meate they sate,

The queene, desirous newes to heare,
Says, of thy Troys unhappy fate'

Declare to me thou Trojan deare:
The heavy hap and chance soe bad,
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had.


And then anon this comelye knight,

With words demure, as he cold well,
Of his unhappy ten yeares' fight,'

Soe true a tale began to tell,
With words soe sweete, and sighes soe deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.


And then a thousand sighes he fet,

And every sigh brought teares amaine ;
That where he sate the place was wett,

As though he had seene those warts againe :
Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore,
Said, Worthy prince, enough, no more.


And then the darksome night drew on,

And twinkling starres the skye bespred
When he his dolefull tale had done,

every one was layd in bedd : Where they full sweetly tooke their rest Save only Dido's boyling brest.


This silly woman never slept,

But in her chamber, all alone,



As one unhappye, alwayes wept,

And to the walls shee made her mone;
That she shold still desire in vaine
The thing, she never must obtaine.


And thus in grieffe she spent the night,

Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,
And Phoebus, with his glistering light,

Through misty cloudes appeared red;
Then tidings came to her anon,
That all the Trojan shipps were gone.


And then the queene with bloody knife

Did arme her hart as hard as stone,
Yet, something loth to loose her life,

In woefull wise she made her mone;
And, rowling on her carefull bed,
With sighes and sobbs, these words shee sayd :


O wretched Dido queene! quoth shee,

I see thy end approacheth neare;
For hee is fled away from thee,

Whom thou didst love and hold so deare :
What is he gone, and passed by ?
O hart, prepare thyselfe to,dye.


Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare,

And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke; Yet fancy bids thee not to fear,

Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke.

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Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart!
And with those words shee peerced her hart.

When death had pierced the tender hart

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene;
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart,

Which shee sustain'd in mournfull teene;
Æneas being shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her mone;


Her funerall most costly made,

And all things finisht mournfullye;
Her body fine in mold was laid,

Where itt consumed speedilye :
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde ;
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed.

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Then was Æneas in an ile

In Grecya, where he stayd long space,
Wheras her sister in short while

Writt to him to his vile disgrace ;
In speeches bitter to his mind
Shee told him plaine he was unkind.


False-harted wretch, quoth shee, thou art;

And traiterouslye thou hast betraid
Unto thy lure a gentle hart,

Which unto thee much welcome made ;
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,
Whose folly bred her deere annoy.


Yett Yett on her death-bed when shee lay,

Shee prayd for thy prosperitye,
Beseeching god, that every day

Might breed thy great felicitye:
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend;
Heavens send thee such untimely end.


When he these lines, full fraught with gall,

Perused had, and wayed them right,
His lofty courage then did fall;

And straight appeared in his sight
Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale :
Which made this valliant souldier quaile.


Æneas, quoth this ghastly ghost,

My whole delight when I did live, Thee of all men I loved most;

My fancy and my will did give; For entertainment I thee gave, Unthankefully thou didst me grave.



Therfore prepare thy flitting soule

To wander with me in the aire:
Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,

Because of me thou tookst no care:
Delay not time, thy glasse is run,
Thy date is past, thy life is done.

O stay a while, thou lovely sprite,

Be not soe hasty to convay



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