An excellent Ballad, Intituled, The Wandring Prince of Troy.
To the Tune of, Queen Dido.
WHen Troy Town for ten years Wars,
withstood the Greeks in manful wise,
Then did their foes increase so fast,
that to resist none could suffice:
Wast lies those walls that were so good,
And corn now grows where Troy town stood.
Aeneas Wandring Prince of Troy,
when he for Land long time had sought,
At length arrived with great joy,
to mighty Carthage walls was brought,
Where Dido's Queen with sumptuous feast,
Did entertain this wandring guest.
And as in Hall at meat they sat,
the Queen desirous news to hear,
Of thy unhappy ten years wars,
declare to me thou Trojan dear,
Thy heavy hap and chance so bad,
That thou poor wandring Prince hast had.
And then annon this worthy Knight,
with words demure as he could well,
Of his unhappy ten years wars,
so true a tale began to tell;
With words so swéet, and sighs so deep,
That oft he made them all to weep.
And then a thousand sighs he fetcht,
and every sigh brought tears amain,
That where he sat the place was wet,
as if he had seen those wars again:
So that the Queen with truth therefore,
Said, Worthy Prince enough no more.
The darksome night apace grew on,
And twinkling Stars, i'th skies were spread
till he his doleful tale had told,
as every one lay in his bed;
Where they full sweetly took their rest,
Save only Dido's boyling breast.
This silly woman never slept,
but in her Chamber all alone,
As one unhappy always kept,
unto the wall she made her moan,
That she should still desire in vain.
The thing that she could not obtain.
And thus in grief she spent the night,
till twinkling stars from skies [...]ere fled,
And Phoebus with his glimering beams,
through misty clouds appeared red:
Then tidings came to her anon
That all the Trojan ships were gone.
And then the Queen with bloody knife,
did arm her heart as hard as stone,
Yet somewhat loath to loose her life,
in woful case she made her moan;
And rowling on her careful bed,
With sighs and sobs these words she said.
O wretched Dido Queen quoth she,
I sée thy end approacheth near,
For he is gone away from thée,
whom thou didst love and hold so dear;
Is he then gone and passed by?
O heare prepare thy self to dye.
Though reason would thou shouldst forbear,
to stop thy hand from bloody stroke,
Yet fancy said thou should'st not fear,
who fettered thee in Cupids yoke:
Come death, quoth she, and end the smart,
And with these words, she pierc'd her heart.
WHen death had pierc'd the tender heart
of Dido Carthagenian Queen,
And bloody knife did end the smart
which she sustain'd in woful teen:
Aeneas being Shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her moan.
Her Funeral most costly made,
and all things finisht mournfully,
Her body fine in mold was laid,
where it consumed speedily:
Her Sisters tears her tomb bestrew'd,
Her Subjects grief their kindness shew'd.
Then was Aeneas in an Isle
in Grecia, where he liv'd long space,
Whereas her Sister in short time,
writ to him to his foul disgrace:
In phrase of Letters to her mind,
She told him plain he was unkind.
False-hearted wretch, quoth she, thou art,
and treacherously thou hast betray'd,
Vnto thy Lure a gentle heart,
which unto thee such welcome made:
My Sister dear, and Carthage joy,
Whose folly wrought her dire annoy.
Yet on her death-bed when she lay,
she prayed for thy prosperity,
Beseeching God that every day
might breed thee great felicity:
Thus by thy means I lost a friend,
Heavens send thee such untimely end.
When he these lines, full fraught with gall,
perused had, and weigh'd them right,
His lofty courage then did fall,
and streight appeared in his sight,
Queen Dido's Ghost both grim and pale,
Which made this valiant Soulder quall.
Aeneas, quoth
my whole delight while I did
Thee of all men I loved most,
my fancy and my will did give:
For entertainment I thee gave,
Vnthankfully thou dig'st my grave.
Therefore prepare thy fleeting soul
to wander with me in the air,
Where deadly grief shall make it howl,
because of me thou took'st no care;
Delay no time, thy glass is run,
Thy day is past, thy death is come.
O stay a while thou lovely spright,
be not so ready to convey,
My soul into eternal night,
where it shall ne'r behold bright day:
O do not frown! thy angry look,
Hath made my breath my life forsook.
But wo is me, it is in vain,
and bootless is my dismal cry,
Time will not be recall'd again,
nor you surcease before I dye:
O let me live to make amends,
Vnto some of thy dearest friends.
But seeing thou obdurate art,
and will no pitty on me show,
Because from thee I did depart,
and left unpaid what I did ow:
I must content my self to take
what lot thou wilt with me partake.
And like one being in a Trance,
a multitude of ugly Fiends
About this woful Prince did dance,
no help he had of any friends:
His body then they took away,
And no man knew his dying day.
Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright.