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But now the wounded quene, with heavie care,
Throwgh owt the vaines doth nowrishe ay ye plage,
Surprised with blind flame; & to her minde
Gan to resort the prowes of the man,
And honour of his race; whiles in her brest
Imprinted stake his wordes & forme of face;
Ne to her lymmes care graunteth quiet rest.

The next morowe, with Phoebus lampe the erthe
Ylightned clere, & eke the dawninge daye
The shadowe danke gan from the pole remove,
When, all vnsownd, her sister of like minde
Thus spake she to: “Oh sister, what dremes
Be these that me tormenten thus afraide?
What newcome gest vnto our realme ys come;
What one of chere; how stowt of hart in armes?
Truelie I thinke, ne vaine ys my beleife,
Of goddishe race some of springe shuld he seeme:
Cowardie noteth hartes swarved owt of kinde.
He driven, Lord! with how hard destinie;
What battells eke atcheived did he tell!
& but my mind war fixt vnmovablie
Never with wight in weddlocke for to joine,
Sithe my first love me lefte by deth disseverid,
Yf bridall bowndes & bed me lothed not,
To this one fawlt perchaunce yet might I yeld.
For I wyll graunt, sithe wretched Syches dethe
My spouse & howse with brother slaughter stand,
This onelie man hath made my senses bend
& pricketh furthe the minde that gan to slide:
Felenglie I tast the steppes of mine old flame.
But first I wishe the erth me swallowe downe,
Or with thunder the mightie Lord me send
To the pale gostes of hell and darkness depe,
Or I the stayne, shamefastnes, or thi lawes.
He that with me first coopled, tooke awaie
My love, which still enioye he in his grave.”

Thus did she saye, & with surprised teares
Bayned her brest. Whereto thus An replied:
“O sister more beloved then the light,
Thi youth all sole in plaintes wilt thow nedes spill?
Ne children swete, ne Venus giftes wilt knowe?
Cindres, thinkest thow, minde this, or graved ghostes?
Time of thie dole, thi spouse new dedd, I graunt
None might the moue; Iarbas not to fere,
The Libian king dispised eke by the,
& other princes moe, whom the riche soyle
Of Aefrike bredes, in honours tryvmphant.
Wilt thow allso withstand the loue that likes the?
Come not to minde vpon whose land thow dwelst?
On this syde, loe! the Getule towns behold,
A people bold, vnvanquished in warr;
Eke the vndaunted Numides compas the;
Allso the Syrtes vnfrindlie harboroughes.
On tother hand the desert realme of Scythe,
The Barceans, whose furie stretcheth wide.
What shall I touch the wars that moue from Tyre,
Or yet thie brothers threates?
By godes purveiaunce yt blue, & Junos helpe,
The Troiane shippes, I thinke, to rounne this course.
Sister, what towne shalt thow se this become?
Throwgh such alie how shall our kingdome rise,
& by the ayde of Troiane armes how great?
How manie waies shall Carthage glorie growe?
Thow onelie now beseke the godes of grace
By sacrifice. Which ended, to thie howse
Receave him, & forge causes of abode;
Whiles winter freates the seas, & watrie Orion,
The shippes shaken, vnfrindlie the season.”

Such wordes inflamde the kindled hart with love,
Lewsed all shame, & gaue the dowtfull hope.
& to the temples fyrst thei hast & seke
By sacrifice for grace, with hogreles of two yeares
Chosen, as owght, to Coeres that gaue lawes,
To Phoebus, Bacchus, & to Juno cheif,
Which hath in care the bandes of mariage.
Fair Dido held in her right hand the cupp,
Which twixt the hornes of a white cowe she shedd
In presence of the godes, passing before
The aultres tall, which she renued ofte
With giftes that daye & bestes deboweled,
Gasing for cownsell on the thentrailes warme.
Ay me, vnskillfull myndes of prophetise!
Alas, blind mindes of prophetes! what avayle
Temples or vowes, what booten thei in rage?
A gentle flame the marie doth devower,
Whiles in the brest the sylent wound kepth life.
Vnhappi Dido burnes, & in her rage
Throwgh owt the towne she wandreth vp and downe;
Like to the stryken hinde with shafte in Crete,
Throwgh owt the woodes, which, chasing with his dartes,
Aloofe, the shepard smyteth at vnwares,
& leaves vnwiste in her the thirling hedd,
That throwgh the groves & laundes glides in her flight,
Amidd whose syde the mortall arrowe stykes.

Aeneas now abowt the walls she leades,
The towne preparde & Carthage welth to showe;
Offring to speake, amidd her voice, she whistes.
& when the daye gan fayle, new feastes she makes;
The Troiane travailes to here anew she listes,
Enraged all, & stareth in his face
That tells the tale. And when thei war all gone,
& the dymme moone repressed the daie light,
& slidinge sterres provoked vnto slepe,
Alone she moornth within her palaice voide,
& settes her downe on her for saken bedd,
& absent him she heres, when he is gone,
& seithe eke. Ofte in her lappe she holds
Askanius, trapte by his fathers fourme,
To proue if she might so beguile her loue.

The turretes now arise not, erst begoune;
Nether the youth weeldes armes, nor they avaunce
The port, nor other mete defence for warr.
Broken thei hang, the workes & mightie frames
Of walls hie raised, sthretching to the skie.
Whom as soone as Ioves dere wife saw infect
With such a plague, ne fame resist the rage,
Saturnus dowghter bourdes thus with Venus than:
“Great praise”, quod she, “& worthie spoiles ye winne,
You & your sonn, great godes of memorie,
By bothe your wiles one woman to devower.
Yet am I not deceyved, that foreknew
Ye dredd our walles & buyldinges did suspect
Of hie Carthage. But what shalbe the end?
Or whervnto now serveth such debate?
But rather peace & brydall bondes knitt we,
Syth thow hast spedd of that thie hart desyred.
Dido doth burne, the rage her bones doth perse.
The people now then common to vs bothe;
With egall favour so lett vs governe them.
Lefull be it to serve a Troiane spouse;
& Tyrians yeld to thie right hand in dower.”

To whom Venus replied thus, that knew
Her wordes proceded from a fayned minde,
To Lybian costes to turne the prince from Rome:
“What wight so fond such offer to refuse?
Or yet with the had lever lyve in warr?
So be it fortune thi tale bring to effect.
But destenies I dowte, lest Jove will graunt
That folke of Tyer, & such as came from Troie,
Shuld hold one towne; or graunt these nations
Mingled to be, or joined aye in league.
Thow art his wief; lefull yt is for the
For to attempt his fancie by request.
Passe on before & followe the I shall.”

Quene Juno then tooke thus her tale againe:
“This travaile be yt mine. But by what meane,
Marke, in few wordes I shall the lerne eftsones,
This work in hand maie now be compassed.
Aeneas now, & wretched Dido eke,
The forest till a hunting minde to wend
The morow, as soone as Titan shall ascend,
& with his beames hath overspredd the erth.
[OMITTED]
& whiles the range doth sett the groues about,
A clowdie shower, mingled with haile, I shall
Pooer down, & then with thunder shake the skies.
The assembles skattered, the mistes shall cloke.
Dido the cave, the Troiane prince the same
Shall enter too, & I wilbe at hand.
& if thie will stick vnto mine, I shall
In weddlocke suer knitt, & make her his owne:
This shall the mariage be.” To whose request
Without debate Venus did seeme to graunt,
& smyled softe, as she that fownd the wile.

Then from the sea the dawning gan arise.
The son hoist vp, the chosen youth gan throng
Vnto the gates: the hayes so rarelie knitt,
The hunting staves with ther brode heddes of yron,
& of Massile the horsemen, furth thei breke;
Of senting howndes a kennell huge likewise.
& at the thressolde of her chamber dore
The Carthage lordes did on ther quene awaite;
The trampling steed, with gold & purple deckt,
Feirslie stood chawing on the fominge bitt.
Then issued she, awaited with a trayne,
Clad in a cloke of Tyre bordered full rich.
Her quyver hong behind her backe, her tresse
Knotted in gold, her purple vesture eke
Butned with gold. The Troianes of her trayne
Before her go, with gladsome Iulus.
Aeneas eke, the goodliest of the rowt,
Makes one of them & ioyneth close the thronges.
Like when Apollo leaveth Licia,
His wintring place, & Xanthus fluddes likewise,
To se Delos, his mothers mansion,
For to repayer & furnishe new her quyer,
The Cretians & folke of Driopes,
& painted Agathirth, do howle & crie,
Environninge the aulters rownd abowt,
When that he walkes vpon mownt Cynthus topp,
His sparkled tresse represt with garlandes softe
Of tender bowes, & tressed vp in golde,
His quyver dartes clattringe behind his backe:
So freshe & lustie did Aeneas seme,
Such lordlie port in cowntinance dothe showe.

But to the hills & wilde holtes when thei came,
From the rockes toppe the wild savage rooes
Availe the hill, & on the other syde,
Over the laundes, thei gan to take ther course.
The hartes likewise, in troopes taking ther flight,
Raising the dust, the mountaynes fast forsoke.
The child Iulus, blithe of his swifte steed,
Amides the playne now prickes by them, now these,
& to encounter wisheth ofte in minde
The foming bore, in stedd of ferefull beastes,
Or lyon browne might from the hill discend.

In the meane while the heavens gan romble sore;
In tayle wher of a mingled shower with haile.
The Tirian folke & skattred Troiane youth
& Venus nevew the cottages for fere
Sought rownd about; the fluddes fell from the hills.
Quene Dido, with the Troiane prince alone,
Chanst on a denn. Our mother then, the Erth,
& Juno that hath charge of mariage,
First tokens gave with burning gledes of flame,
&, previe to the weddlocke, lightning skies;
& the nymphes wayled from the mountaynes toppe.

Aye me! this was the foremost daye of myrthe,
& of mischief the first occasion eke.
Respect of fame no lenger her with holdes,
Ne museth she to frame her loue be stelth.
Wedlock she calls it; vnder the pretence
Of which faier name she cloketh now her fault.

Furthwith Fame flies throwgh the greet Libian townes;
A mischief Fame—ther is none ells so swifte—
That moving, growes; & flitting, gethers strength.
First small to dredd, soone after climes the skies,
Percing the erth, & hides her hedd in clowdes.
Whom our mother, the Erth, tempted by wrathe
Of godes, begat; the last sister—thei write—
To Caeus and Inceladus.
Speedie of foote, of wing likewise right swifte;
A monster thing & dreddfull to behold:
For everie plume that on her bodie stickes
As manie waker eies lurke vnderneth;
A thing in deed much mervaylous to here,
So manie mowthes to speke, & listning eares.
By night she flieth amidd the clowdie skie,
Shriking, by the darke shadowe of the erth,
Ne once her eies to swete slepe doth encline.
By daye she sittes to marke on the howse toppes
Or turrettes hie, & the great townes she frayes,
Mindfull of yll & lies as blasing truth.
This monster blith with manie a tale gan sowe
This rumor then into the common eares,
As well thinges done as that was never wrought:
As, that there comen is to Tyrians court
Aeneas, that of Troiane bludd is sprong,
To whom faier Dido wold her self be wedd;
In natures lustes the winter for to passe,
[OMITTED]
This in ech mowth the filthie goddes spredd,
& takes her course to king Iarbas straight;
Kindling his minde, with tales she fedd his wrathe.
Gotten he was by Hammon Jupiter
Vpon the ravisht Garamantida.
An hundred temples in his realme he buylte,
An hundred aulters kepte with waker fyer,
A watche allwaies on the goddes to attende;
The erth imbrued with yelded blood of bestes,
& thresholdes spredd with garlandes strange of hew.
He, wood of minde, kindled by bitter bruites,
Fore the aultars, in presence of the godes,
With reared handes gan humblie Ioue entreate:

“Allmighti lord, whom the Moors nacion,
Fede at riche tables, presenteth with wine,
Seest thow these thinges? or serue we the in vayne,
When thow lettes fle the thunder from the clowdes,
Whose flames oft chaunce with vaine noise vs afraye?
A wandring woman in our coostes hath bowght
A plott for price, wher she a village sett;
To whom we gaue the strond for to manure,
& lawes the towne to rule; our weddlock lothe,
Hath chose Aeneas to commaund her realmes.
That Paris now, with his vnmanlie sorte,
With mytred hattes, with oynted bushe & bearde,
His rape inioyes; whiles to thie temple we
Our offringes bring & hallowe rumours vayne.”

Whom prayeng in such sort & gryping eke
The aulters fast, the mightie father harde,
& wrythed his looke towardes the royall walls
& lovers eke, forgetting ther good name.
To Mercurie then gaue he thus in charge:
“Hence, sonne, in hast! & call to the windes!
Slide with thie plumes & tell the Troiane prince,
That now in Carthage loytreth reckleslie,
Of the townes graunted him by destenie.
Swifte throwgh the skies se thow these wordes reporte.
His faire mother behight him not to vs.
Such one to be, ne therfor twise him savde.
From Greekishe armes, but Italie to rule,
Dreddfull in armes, & chargde with seigniorie,
Discovering his worthie Tewcrine race,
& vnder lawes the whole world to subdue.
If glorie of such thinges nowght him enflame,
Ne that he list seke honour by some payne,
The turrettes yet of Roome doth he envie,
That is the father of Ascanius?
What mindeth he to frame? or by what hope
In inmies land doth he make his abode?
Ne his ofspring in Italie regardes?
Ne yet the lond of Lavine doth behold?
Bidd him make sayle; haue here the summ & ende.
Our message thus report.” When Iove had said,
Then Mercurie gan bend him to obeye
His mightie fathers will; & to his heeles
His golden winges he knittes, which him transport
With a light winde aboue the erthe & sees.
& then with him his wande he tooke, wherby
He calls from hell pale ghostes, & other some
Thither he sendeth allso comefortles;
Wherby he forcethe slepes & bereaves them;
& mortall eies he closethe vp in dethe.
By pooer wherof he dryves the windes awaie,
& passeth eke amidd the trowbled clowdes,
Till in his flight he gan descriue the topp
& steepie flankes of rockie Athlas hill,
That with his crowne sustaines the welkin vp;
Whose hedd, forgrowen with pine, circled allwaie
With mistie clowdes, beaten with winde & stormes;
His showlders spredd with snowe; & from his chinn
The springes discende, his berd frosen with yse.
Here Mercurie with egall shininge winges
Fyrst towched, &, with bodie heddlong bent,
To the water thence took he his discent,
Like to the fowle that endlonge coostes & strondes,
Swarming with fishe, flies swymming by the sea.
Cutting betwixt the windes & Libian sandes,
From his graundfather by the mothers syde
The Cylen childe so came, & then alight
Vpon the howses with his winged feete,
Tofore the towers, wher he Aeneas saw
Fowndacouns cast & rearinge buyldinges new,
Gyrt with a sworde of iasper, starrie bright;
Of Tyrian purple hynge his showldres downe
His shininge pawle of mightie Didos gifte,
Striped throwgh owt with a thinn threde of golde.

Then thus he sayd: “Thow, that of highe Carthage
Dost the fowndacouns laye to please thie wife,
Raising on height a passing fayer citie!
But oh, for woe; thine owne thinges owt of minde!
From the bright skies the ruler of the godes
Sent me to the, which with his becke commaundes
Both heaven & erth; in hast he gaue me charge
Throw the light ayer this message the to saye:
What buildest thow, or by what hope thy time
In idlenes thus wastes in Afrike land?
Of so great thinges if not the fame the sturr,
Ne lust by honour thie travaile to pursue,
Ascanius yet, that thriveth fast, behold,
& the hope of Iulus seede, thine heire,
To whom the realme of Italie belongeth
& soyle of Rome.” When Mercurie had said,
Amid his tale, farr of from mortall eies
Into light ayer he vanisht owt of sight.

Aeneas, with that vision stryken downe,
Well ner bestraught, vp start his herre for dred;
Amid his throte his voice likewise gan sticke.
For to depart by flight he longeth now,
& that swete land to leave, astonied sore
By thadvice & message of the godes.
What may he do, alas! or by what wordes
Dare he perswade the raging quene in loue?
Or in what sort may he his tale begin?
Whiles here, now ther his restles minde gan ronne,
& diverslie him drawes, discoursing all.
After long dowbte this sentence semed best:
Mnestheus first, & strong Cleanthus eke,
He calls to him, with Sergest; vnto whom
He gave in charge his navie secretlie
For to prepare, & drawe to the sea coostes
His people, & his armour to addres,
& for the change of thinges to faine excuse,
& that he wold, when Dido lest foreknew
Or did suspect so great a love coold breke,
Awaite a tyme to speke therof most mete;
The nearest waie to hasten his entent.
Gladlie his will & biddinges thei obeie.

Full soone the Quene this craftie sleight gan smell,
—Who can deceaue a lover in forecast?—
& first foresees these mocions for to come,
Ye most assured fearing; vnto whom
That wicked Fame reported how the flete
Was armed new, all readie to avale.
Then yll bestedd of cownsell, rageth she,
& whisketh throwgh the towne like Bacchus nonne,
As Thyas sturrs, the sacred rites begonne,
When the wonted third yeres sacrifice
Doth prick her furth, hering Bacchus name halowed,
& when the feastfull night of Cytheron
Doth call her owt, with noise of her dawnsing.

At length her self thus boordes Aeneas with:
“Vnfaithfull wight, to colour such a flight!
& cooldst thow hope vnwist to leave my land?
Not the our love, nor yet right hand betrothde,
Ne crwell dethe of Dido may with hold,
But that thow wilt in winter shippes prepare
& take the seas in broyle of raging windes?
What if the land thow sekest war not strange,
Yf not vnknowen, or auncient Troie stoode,
In rowghe seas yet shuld Troie of the be sought?
Shunnist thow me? by these teares & right hand—
For nowght ells haue I wretched lefte my self—,
By our spowsailes & mariage begoune,
If I of the deserued ever well,
Or thing of mine war ever to the leefe,
If to request that enie place be lefte,
Rue on this realme, whose ruine ys at hand,
I the beseche, & do awaie this minde.
The Libian folke & tyrantes Numydanne
For the me hate; my Tryians eke are wrothe;
My shamefastnes eke stayned for thi cause,
& good renowne, wherby vp to the starrs
Pereles I clambe. To whom wilt thow me leaue,
Readie to die, O my swete gest, syth this name
Ys all, as now, that of a spowse remaines?
But wherto now shuld I prolong my dethe?
What? vnto my brother Pigmalion
Bete downe my walls? or the Getulian king
Iarbas yet captive lead me awaie?
Before thie flight a child had I conceaved,
Or saw a yong Aeneas in my court
Play vp and downe, that did present thie face,
All vtterlie I coold not seme forsaken.”

Thus sayd the quene. He, to the godes advice,
Vnmoved held his eies, & in his brest
Represt his care & stroue against his will,
& these wordes few at lengthe furth gan he cast:
“Never shall I denie, quene, thie desertes,
Greater then thow in wordes may well expres.
To thinke on the ne yrke me ay it shall,
Whiles of my self I shall haue memorie,
& whiles the sprite these limmes of mine shall rule.
It is not great the thing that I requyer.
Nether ment I to cloke the same by stelth,
Slaunder me not, ne to eskape by flight.
Ne I to the pretended mariage,
Ne hither cam to joine me in such league.
Yf destenie at mine owne libertie
To lead my life woold haue permitted me,
After my will my sorowes to redowble,
Troie & the remainder of all my folke
Restore I shuld, & with these scaped handes
Ther walls againe vnto the vanquished,
& palaice hie of Priam eke repayer.
But now Apollo, called Gryneus,
& prophecies of Licia me bidd
To sease vpon the realme of Italie;
That is my loue, my countrie, & my land.
Yf Carthage turretes the, of Phenis land,
& of a Libian towne the sight detaynes,
To vs Troianes whie dost thow then envie
In Italie to make our rested ende?
Lefull it is for vs strang realmes to seke.
As ofte as night doth cloke with shadowe danke
The erthe, as oft as flaming sterrs appere,
The troobled ghost of my father Anchises
So ofte in slepe doth feare & advice me,
& wronged hedd by me of my dere sonne,
Whom I defraude of the Hesperian crowne
& landes allotted him by destenie.
The messenger eke of the godes but late,
Sent downe from Iove—I swere by either hedd—,
Passing the aier, did this to me reporte.
In bright daie light the god my self I sawe
Entre these walls, & with these eares him hard.
Leave then with plaint to vexe both the & me;
Against my will to Italie I goe.”

Whiles in this sort his tale he did pronownce,
With wayward looke she gan him aie behold,
With rowling eies that moved to & fro,
With sylent looke discoursing over all.
& furth at last in rage thus gan she brayde:
“Faithless! foresworne! thie dame ne goddes was,
Nor Dardanus beginner of thie race,
But soor hard rockes mownt Caucase monstruous
Bredd the, & tettes of tygres gaue the sucke.
But what shuld I dissemble now my chere,
Or me reserue to hope of greater thinges?
Shedd he one teare, or ever movde his eien?
Wepte he for ruth, or pitied our loue?
What shall I sett before, or wher beginne?
Iuno, ne Iove, with iust eies this beheld.
Faith is no wher; no surete is to be fownde.
Did I not him, throwen vp vpon my shore,
In nede receaue, & fownded eke invest
Of half my realme; his navie lost, repayer;
From dethes daunger his felowes eke defende?
Aie me! with rage of furies, lo! I driue.
Apollo now, now Lician prophecies,
An other while the messenger of godes,
He saith, sent downe from mightie Iove him self,
This dreddfull charge amidd the skies hath browght.
As thowgh that were the travaile of the godes,
Or such a care ther quietnes might moue!
I hold the not, nor yet gainsaye thie wordes;
To Italie passe on by helpe of windes,
& throwgh the fluddes go serche thi kingdome new.
Yf rufull godes haue enie power, I trust
Amidd the rockes thie hyer shalt thow fynde,
When thow shalt clepe full oft on Didos name.
With buriall brandes I, absent, shall the chase,
& when cold dethe from life these lymmes devide,
My ghost ech wher shall still on the awaite.
Thow shalt abie, & I shall here thereof;
Among the sowles bylowe this bruite shall come.”

With such like wordes she cutt of half her tale,
With pensife hart abandoninge the light,
& from his sight her self gan farr remoue,
Forsaking him, that manie thinges in feare
Imagyned, & did prepare to saye.
Her sowning lymmes her damsells gan releue,
& to her chamber bare of marble stone,
& layd her on her bedd with tapistes spredd.

But iust Aeneas, thowgh he did desyer
With comfort swete her sorrowe to appease,
& with his wordes to bannishe all her care,
To waile her much with grete love ouercome,
By the godes will yet workes he, & resortes
Vnto his navie, wher the Troianes fast
Fell to ther worke, from the shore to vnstocke
Highe charged shippes. Now fleetes the talowed kele.
Ther ores with leaues yet grene from woode thei bringe,
& mastes vnshauen, for hast to take ther flight.
Ye might haue seen them throng owt of the towne
Like antes, when thei do spoile the binge of corne
For winters dredd, which thei bear to their denne,
When the blake swarme creepes ouer all the feeldes,
& thwart the grasse by straight pathes dragg ther praye.
The gret graynes then somme on ther showlders trusse,
Some driue the troope, some chastice eke the slowe;
With ther travaile chaffed ys euerie path.

Beholdinge thus, what thowght might Dido haue!
What sighes gaue she, that from her towers of height
The large coostes saw haunted with Troians werkes,
& in her sight the seas with dynne confownded!
O wittles loue, what thing is that to do
A mortall minde thow canst not force therto!
Forced she is to teares ay to returne,
By new requestes to yeld her hart to loue.
& lest she shuld before her causeles dethe
Leave enie thing vntried: “O Sister An,”
Quod she, “behold the whole coost rownd abowt,
How thei prepare, assembled everie wher;
The streminge sayles abyden but for windes;
The shippmen crowne ther shippes with bowes for ioie.
O sister, if so great a sorrowe I
Mistrusted had, it wear more light to beare.
Yet natheles, this for me wretched wight,
An, shalt thow doe, for faithles, the alone
He reverenced, & eke his secrettes told.
The metest tymes thow knew to boorde the man;
To my prowd foe thus, sister, humblie saye:
I with the Grekes in the port Aulide
Coniured not, the Troianes to destroie;
Nor to the walls of Troie yet sent my fleete;
Nor cynders of his father Anchises
Disturbed, aye owt of his sepulture.
Whie lettes he not my wordes synk in his eares
So hard for to intreat? whither wholes he?
This last boone yet graunte he to wretched loue:
Prosperous windes for to depart with ease
Let him abide. The foresaid marriage now,
That he betraide, I do not him requyer,
Nor that he shuld faire Italie forgoe;
Nether I woold he shuld his kingdome leaue;
Quiet I aske, & a tyme of delaye,
& respite eke my furie to aswage,
Till my mishappe teach me, all comefortles,
How for to waile my greif. This latter grace,
Sister, I craue; haue thow remorse of me!
Which, if thow shalt vouchsafe, with heapes I shall
Leave by my dethe well rendred vnto the.”

Mingled with teares thus wretched gan she plaine;
Which An reportes, & answer bringes againe.
Nowght teares him moue, ne yet vnto my wordes
He harkyns, thowgh that he war milde of kynde.
Destenie withstandes; a god stoppes his meke eares.
Like to the aged boistrous bodid oke,
Amidd the Alpes, which that the northren windes,
That now from this, now from that quarter blowe,
Betwixt them striue to overwhelme with blast;
The whistling ayer amongest the braunches rores,
Which all at ones bowe to the erthe hys croppes,
The stocke onste smyte; whiles in the rockes the tree
Stikes fast; & looke! how hie to heaven his topp
Reares vy, as deepe his roote spredes downe to hell:
So was this lord now here, now ther besett
With wordes, in whose stowt brest wrowght maine cares.

But still his minde in one remaynes; for nowght
The teares werr shed. Then Dido, frayd of fates,
Wisheth for dethe, yrkenge to se the skies.
& that she might the rather worke her will,
& leaue the light—a greislie thing to tell—,
Vpon the aulters, burninge full of sence,
When she sett giftes of sacrifice, she sawe
The holie water stockes waxe blake within;
The wine eke shedd, changde into filthie geare;
Which she to none, ner to her sister told.
A marble temple in her palaice eke,
In memorie of her old spouse, ther stoode,
In great honour & wurshippe, which she held,
With snow white clothes deckt, & with bowes of feast;
Wher oft was hard her husbondes voice, & speche
Clepinge for her, when derke night hidd the erth.
& oft the owle with rufull song complaind
From the howse topp, to drawe his plaining tunes.
& manie thinges, forspoke by prophetes past,
Of dreddfull warninges gan her now afraye,
& sterne Aeneas semed in her slepe
To chase her still abowt, bestraught in rage.
& still her thowght that she was left alone
Vnwaited on great voiages to wende,
In desert land her Tyrian folke to seke.
Like Pentheus, that in his maddnes sawe
Swarminge in flockes the furies all of hell,
Two souns remoue, & Thebes towne showde twaine;
Or like Orestes, Agamemnons sonne,
In tragedies who representeth aie
Driven abowt, that from his mother fledd
With armed brandes, & eke with serpentes blake;
That sitting fownd within the temples porche
Th uglie furies his slaughter to revenge.

Yolden to woe, when frensie had her caught,
Within her self then gan she well debate,
Full bent to dye, the tyme & eke the meane;
& to her wofull sister thus she sayd,
In owtward chere dissembling her entent,
Presentinge hope vnder a semblant glade:
“Sister, reioice! for I haue fownd the waie
Him to returne, & loose me from his loue.
Toward the ende of the occean fludd,
Wheras the sonne descendeth & declines,
In thextremes of Aethiope, is a place
Wher huge Atlas doth on his showlders turne
The sphere so rownd, with flaming sterrs besett;
Borne of Massile, I here, shuld be a nonne,
Of the Hesperian sisters temple old
The garder, that giues the dragon foode
That on the tre preserues the holie fruite
Which honie moist & sleping popey cast.
This woman doth avaunt, by force of charmes,
What hart she list to sett at libertie,
& other some to perse with heavie care;
In ronning floode to stopp the waters course,
& in the sterrs ther order to reverse;
The ghostes that walke by night eke to assemble.
Vnder thie foote the earth thow shalt behold
Tremble & rore, the okes fall from the hills.
The godes & the, dere sister, now I call
In wittnes, & thie hedd to me so swete,
To magike art against my will I bend.
Right secretlie within our inner court,
In open aier reare vp a stacke of woode,
& hang ther on the weapon of this man,
The which he lefte within my chamber sticke.
His weedes despoiled all, & brydall bedd,
Wherein, alas! sister, I fownd my bane,
Charge ther vpon; for so the nonne commaundes,
To do awaie what so did him belong,
Of that false wight that might remembrance bring.”

Then whisted she; the pale her face gan staine.
Ne coold yet An beleue her sister ment
To cloke her dethe by this new sacrifice,
Nor in her brest such furie did conceaue;
Nether doth she now dredd more grevous thinges
Then folowed Sycheus dethe, wherefor
She puttes her will in vre.
But the quene, when the stacke was reared vp
Vnder the aier within the open court,
With cloven oke & billettes made of fyrr,
With garlandes then she doth besett the place,
& with grene bowes eke crowen the funerall;
& ther vpon his weedes & sword forsake,
& over his bedd his picture she bestowes,
As she that well foreknew what was to come.
The aulters stand abowt, & eke the nonne
With sparkled tresse; the which iii C godes
With a lowd voice doth thunder owt at once,
Herebus greislie, & Chaos eke,
With the threfold goddes Proserpine,
& thre figures of Dian the virgine;
& sprinkles eke the water counterfayte,
Vnto the blake Avernus lake in hell.
Weare sought, after the right course of the moone;
& springing herbes reaped with brasen sighes
Ther venime blake entermingled with mylke;
The lompe of fleshe twene the new borne fols eien
To weane her from her dames loue.
She, with the milk in bothe her handes devoute,
Stoode nere the aulter, bare on the one foote,
With vesture loose, the bandes vnlaced all;
Bent for to dye, calls the godes to record,
& gyltie sterrs eke of her destenie.
& if that ther werr enie god had care
Of lovers trwe, vnequall in behest,
Him she requires of iustice to remember.

Yt was the night that sownd & quiet rest
Had throwgh the erth the wearied bodies caught;
The woodes, the raging seas war fallen to rest;
When that the starrs had half ther course declinde;
The feldes whiste, beastes, & fowles of dyvers hwe,
& what so that in the brode slowghes remaine,
Or yet amonges the busshie thickes of bryer,
Laid downe to slepe by sylence of the night,
Gan swage ther cares, mindles of travailes past.
Not so the sprite of this Phenician,
Vnhappie she, that on no slepe coold chaunce,
Nor yet nightes rest in eie nor brest coold entre;
Her cares redowble; loue rise & rage againe,
& ouerflowes with swelling stormes of wrathe.
Thus thinkes she then, thus rowles she in her minde:

“What shuld I do? shall I now beare the skorne
For to assaye myne old wooers againe,
Or humblie yet a Numyde spouse require,
Whose mariage I haue so ofte disdainde?
The Troiane navie, & Teuchryn vile commaundes
Follow shall I, as thowgh it shuld availe,
That whilome by mie helpe thei war releved?
Or for bycause with kynd & mindfull folke
Right well doth sitt the passed thankfull dede?
Who woold me suffer—admitt this war my will—,
Or skorned me to ther prowd shippes receaue?
Oh, woe begon, full litle doest thow knowe
Or smell the broken othes of Laomedus kinde!
What then? alone with merie maryners
Shall I awaite, or boorde them with my power
Of Tyrians, assembled me abowt?
& such as I with travaile browght from Tyre,
Driue to the seas, & force them sayle againe?
But rather dye, even as thow hast deserved,
& to this woe with yron geve thow ende!
& thow, sister, first vanquisht with my teares,
Thow in my rage with all these mischiefes fyrst
Did burden me, & wisht me to my foe.
Was it not graunted me, from spousailes fre,
Like to wild bestes, to lyve with owt offence,
With owt tast of such cares? Is ther no faith
Reserude to the cynders of Sycheus?

Such great complaintes brake furth owt of her brest;
Whiles that Aeneas, certein to depart,
All thinges preparde, slept in the pupp on hie.
To whom in sleape the wonted godheddes forme
Gan aie appere, returning in like shape
As semed him, & gan him thus advise,
Like vnto Mercurie in voice & here,
With yelow bushe & comelie lymmes of youthe:
“O goddes sone, in such case canst thow sleape?
Nor yet bestraight the daungers dest for see
That compass the, ner here the faire windes blowe
Dido in minde rowles veniaunce & deceite;
Certein of death, swells with vnstable yre.
Wilt thow not fle, whiles thow hast tyme of flight?
Straight shalt thow se the seas coverd with sayles,
The blasing brondes the shore skalt all with flame,
& if the morow steales vpon the here.
Come of, haue done, sett all delaie aside;
For full of change these women be allwaie.”
This said, in the dark night he gan him hide.

Aeneas, of this sodaine vision
Adredd, stertes vp owt of his sleape in hast;
Calls vp his feres: “Awake! gett vp, my men!
Aburd your shippes, & hoyse vp sayle with spede!
A god me wills, sent from aboue againe,
To hast my flight, & wrethed cables cutt.
O holie god, what so thow art, we shall
Followe the, & all blithe obaye thie will.
Be at our hand, & frindlie vs assist!
Adresse the sterrs with prosperous influence!”
& with that word his raser sword vnshethes,
With which drawen he the cable cutt in twaine;
The like desire the rest imbraced all.
All thing in hast thei refte, & furth thei whorle.
The shore thei leave; with shippes the sees ar spredd;
Cuttinge the fome by the grene seas thei sweepe.

Aurora now from Titans purple bedd
With new daies light had ouerspredd the earth,
Throwgh the windowe the quene the creking daye
Aspied, & navie with splaide sayles depart
The shore, & eke the port of vessells voide.
Her comelye brest thrise or fower tymes she smitte
With her owne hand, & tare her golden tresse.
“Oh Iove!” quod she, “Shall he then thus depart,
A straunger thus, & skorne our kingdome soe?
Shall not my men do on ther armour prest,
& eke pursue them throwgh owt all this towne?
Owt of the rode soone shuld the vessells warpe?
Hast on, cast flame, hoyse sayle, & weelde your ores!
What said I? but wher am I? what fransie
Alters thie minde? Vnhappie Dido, now
Hath the be sett a froward destenie?
Then the behoued, when thow did devide
Thie sceptre. Loe! his faithe & his right hand,
That ledes with him, thei saye, his cuntrie godes,
That on his backe his aged father bare!
His bodie might not I haue caught & rent,
& in the sees haue drentcht him, & his pheres?
Or from Askanius his life berefte with yron,
& sett him on his fathers boord for meat?
Of such debate perchaunce the fortune might
Haue dowtefull bene; woold god yt war assayd!
Whom shuld I fear, that sithe my self must dye?
Might I haue throwen into that navie brondes,
& fylled eke ther deckes with flaming fyer,
The father, sonn, & all the nacion
Distroyed, & fall my self ther ouer all!
Sunne, with thie beames that mortall werkes descriest;
And thow, Iuno, that well these travailes knowst;
Proserpine, thow, vpon whom folke do vse
To howle, & call in forked waies by night;
Infernall furies, ye wreekers of wrong;
& Didos godes, which standes at point of deathe:
Receaue these wordes, & eke your heavie powre
With drawe from me, that wicked folke deserue,
& our request accepte, we you besech.
If so that yonder wicked hed must nedes
Recouer port, & sayle to land of force,
& if Ioues will hath so resolved it,
& such end sett as no wight can fordoe;
Yet at the least assayled might he be
With armes & warrs of hardie nacions;
From the bondes of his kingdome farr exiled;
Iulus eke ravisht owt of his armes;
Driven to call for helpe, that he maie se
The wailfull corses of his folke lie dedd.
& after hard condicions of peace,
His realme, nor life desyred maie he brooke;
But dye before his tyme, vnburied amidd the sandes.
This I require; these wordes with blud ishedd.
&, Tirians, ye his stocke & all his race
Pursue with hate! reward our cindres so!
No loue nor league betwixt our peoples be!
And of our bones some wreeker may ther springe,
With sword & flame that Troianes may pursue!
And from hencefoorth, when that our powr may stretch,
Our coostes to them contrarie be thei aie,
I craue of God; that our streames to ther fluddes;
Armes vnto armes; & ofspringe of ech race!”

This sayd, her mind she wrythde ouer all sides,
Seking with spede to ende this yrksome life.
To Syches nurse, Barcen, then thus she sayd—
For hers at home in asshes did remaine—:
“Call vnto me, dere nurse, my sister An;
Bidd her in haste in water of the floode
She sprinkle the bodye, & bring the beastes
& purging sacrifice I did her showe.
So lett her come; & thow thie temples bynde
With sacred garlandes; for the sacrifice
That I to Pluto haue begonn, I mynde
For to perfourme, & geue ende to these cares;
A Troiane statue throwe into the flame.”
When she had sayd, redowble gan her nurse
Her steppes, forth on an aged womans trott.

But trembling Dido egerlie now bent
Vpon her sterne determinacion,
Her bludd shott eien rowling within her hedd,
Her quiuering chekes fleked with deadlie staine,
Both pale & wanne to thinke on deathe to come,
Into the inner wardes of her palaice
She russheth in, & clamme vp, as bestraught,
The buriall stacke, & drew the Troiane sword,
Her gifte sometime, but ment to no such vse.
Wher, when she saw his weedes & wellknowen bedd,
Wepinge a while, in studie gan she staye,
Fell on the bedd, & these last wordes she sayde:

“Swete spoiles, whiles God & destenie did permitt,
Receave this sprite, & ridd me of these cares!
I ran the course so longe as fortune did yt graunt,
& vnder earth my great ghost now shall wende.
A goodlie towne I buylt, & saw my walls,
Happie, alas, to happie, if these coostes
The Troiane shippes had never towched aie!”

This sayd, she layd her mowth close to the bedd.
“Whie then,” quod she, “vnwroken shall we die?
But let vs die, for thus, & in this sort
Yt liketh vs to seke the shadows darke.
& from the seas the crwell Troiane eies
Shall well discerne this flame, & take with him
Eke these vnluckie tokens of my deathe.”

As she had sayd, her damsells might perceve
Her with those wordes fall persed on the sword,
The broyling blood with gore, & handes imbrwed.
The clamer rang vnto the palaice topp;
The bruite ran throwgh all the astoined towne.
With wailing great, & womens laymenting
The roophes gan rore, the aire resownd with plaint,
As thowgh Carthage or auncient Tyre
With presse of entred armes swarmed full;
Or when the rage of furious flame doth take
The temples toppes, & mansions eke of men.

Her sister An, spriteles for drede to here
This dreddfull sturr, with nailes gan tere her face.
She smotte her brest, & russheth throwgh the rowte,
& dying thus she cleapes her by her name:
“Sister, for this with crafte did you me boorde?
The stacke, the flame, the aulters, bredd thei this?
What shall I fyrst complaine, forsaken wight?
Loothest thow in dethe thi sisters felowshipe?
Thow shuld haue called me to like destenie:
One woe, one sword, one hower ende both vs two!
Thys funerall stacke buylt I vp with these handes,
& with this voice cleped our natiue godes;
&, crwell, so absentes me from thie deathe?
Distroid yt hath, sister, both the & me,
Thie people eke, & princes borne of Tyre.
Geve here; I shall with water washe her woundes,
& sucke with mowthe her breath, if owght be lefte.”

Thus sayd, vnto the hie degrees she mownted,
Embrasing fast her sister now half deed,
With wailfull plaint; whom in her lapp she layd,
The blake swart gore wiping drie with her clothes.
& Dido striveth to lifte vp againe
Her heavie eien, & hath no power therto:
Depe in her brest the fixed wound doth gape.
Thrise leaning on her elbowe gan she raise
Her self vpward, & thrise she ouerthrew
Vpon the bedd, ranginge with wandring eies
The skies for light, & wept when she it fownde.

Allmightie Iuno, having ruthe by this
Of her long paines & eke her lingring deathe,
From heaven she sent the goddes Iris downe,
The striving sprite & iointed lymmes to loose.
For that neither by lott of destenie
Nor yet by naturall death she perished,
But wretchedlie before her fatall daye,
& kindled with a sodayne rage of flame,
Proserpine had not from hedd berefte
The golden herre, nor iudged her to hell.
The dewie Iris thus with golden winges,
A thowsand hues showing against the soun,
Amidd the skies then did she fle adowne,
On Didos hedd wheras she gan alight:
“This herre,” quod she, “to Pluto consecrate,
I do bereaue; & eke the sprite vnloose
From thie bodie.” & when she had thus sayd,
With her right hand she cutt the herr in twaine,
& therwith all the naturall heat gan quench,
& into winde furthwith the life resolve.