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Be this the queyn, throw hevy thochtis onsound,
In euery vayn nurysys the greyn wound,
Smytyn so deip with the blynd fyre of lufe
Hir trublyt mynd gan fra all rest remufe.
Compasing the gret prowes of Ene,
The large wirschip feill syss remembris sche
Of his lynnage and folkis; for ay present
Deip in hir breist so was hys figur prent
And all hys wordis fixt, that, for bissy thocht,
Noyn eys hir membris nor quyet suffir mocht.
The nyxt day following, with hys lamp brycht
As Phebus dyd the grund or erth alycht,
Eftir the dawing heth the donk nychtis clowd
Chasyt from the sky and the ayr new schrowd,
Ful evil at eyss Queyn Dido on this kynd
Spak to hir systir, wes of the sammyn mynd:
“My sistir An, quhat swevynnys beyn thir”, quod sche,
“Quhilk me affrays in sik proplexite?
Quhat be he, this gret new gest or stranger,
Onto our realm laitly is drevyn heir?
Quhou wyss in speche and in his commonyng
He schawys hym self! O God, quhat wondir thing!
Quhou stout in curage, in weir quhou vailȝeand!
I trow, sistir, and, as I vndirstand,
Myne opinion is nane oncertane thing,
Thai beyn sum lynnage of verray goddis ofspring,
For dreid always and schaymful kowardyss
Degeneryt wightis and bowbartis notyfyss.
Allace, quhat wondir fatale aventuris
Hess hym bywaif! quhat travel, pane and curis,
How huge batellis, be hym eschewit, tald he!
Now certis, war it not determyt with me
And fixit in my mynd onmovabilly
That to no wyght in wedlok me list I
Cuppil nor knyt, sen my first luf is gane,
By deth dissoverit, and left me alane;
War not alsso to me is displesant
Genyvs chalmyr or matrymone to hant;
Perchans I mycht be venquist in this rage,
Throu this a cryme of secund mariage.
Annes, I grant to the, sen the decess
Of my sory husband Syche, but less,
Quhar that our howss with brodyrris ded wes sprent,
Only this man hess movit myne entent,
And heth my mynd inducyt to forvay:
I knaw and felis the wemmys and the way
Of the ald fyre and flambe of luffis heit.
Bot rather I desyre baith corss and spreit
Of me the erth swelly law adown,
Or than almychty Iove with thundris sovn
Me smyte ful deip onto the schaddoys dern,
Amang pail gastis of hellis holl cavern,
In the profond pot of deth and dyrk nycht,
Or I becum so schamful wrachit wyght
That I myne honeste fyle or womanhed,
Or brek ȝour lawis—na, quhil I be ded!
He that me first to hym in wedlok knyt
My first flowr of amouris tuke, and ȝyt
For euermair with hym he sal thame haue,
And he most keip thame with hym in his grave.”
Thus sayand, the brycht teris onon owtbrist
And fillyt all hir bosum or scho wist.
Annes answerd: “O thou, sa mot I thryve,
To thi systir derrar than hir awyn lyve,
Quhiddir gif thou wilt alane, in wedowhed,
Evir murnand thus waist away thy ȝowthed,
Nowthir ȝyt the comfort of sweit childring thou knawis,
Nor the plesour felis of Venus lawys?
Quhat, wenys thou assys cald and gastis in grave
Of al syk walyng ony fest sal haue?
In cayss that in thi duyll afor thir days,
Thy lord new ded, the list inclyne na ways
Nowthir prynce nor duke to tak as for husband;
Supposs thou lychtlyit than, of Lyby land,
Hyarbas kyng, and othir heris all,
Quhilkis in the rich sulȝe triumphall
Of Aufrik boundis dwelling wydequhar;
Quhat, wilt thou als debatyng euer mar
Agane this lykand lufe, cummys of plesance?
Consideris thou not, and hess in remembrance,
Amyddis quhays grond heir thou remanys?
On this hand, citeis of Getulyanys,
A kynd of pepill invincibill in batell;
Heir the ondantit folk of Numyda dwell,
And on that other part ombyset, I wyss,
We ar with bustuus onfrendly Syrtis;
And ȝondir the desert region alsswa,
Ay ful of thyrst, in barrand Libya;
And wydquhar thens the wild pepil of Barchay.
The weris moving from Tyre quhat sal I say,
And the gret brag and mannans of our brothir?
Be dispositioun of goddis, I weyn, nane othir,
And by the purvyans of Iuno, to our supple,
Thir Troiane schippis by prospir wynd our see
Heth hyddir set thar coursys fortunate.
O systir myne, considir in quhat estait
Thys cite, quhilk thou beildis, sal vpryss!
Persaue quhou that this realm may, on syk wyss,
Beyn vpheyt throu sa nobil a mariage!
Behald quhou mekill the glory of Cartage
Salbe extollyt, and encress in euery thyng,
Throu help in armys of the Troianys ofspryng!
Quharfor the nedis beseik goddis of thar grace,
With sacrifyce, tobe favorabil in this cace.
Do set alhaill thi cure and diligence
To causyng hym mak with the residence,
And fenȝe causys to tary hym and wythhald,
So lang as thus, duryng the wyntir cald,
The sey ragis throu watry Orion,
And quhil the stormys be al our blawyn and gon;
And quhil hys schippis, with the tempest schaik,
Be bet, byd spair nowthir fyr, elm nor aik.”