University of Virginia Library

Bot than Ene half mad and dum stude als,
Vpstart his hair, the voce stak in his hals.
Sayr he langis to fle and to depart;
And that sweit cuntre, on the tother part,
To leif ful laith wes hym, or go at large.
Astonyst he wes to syt sa hie a charge—
Or dysobey the gret godis beheste
(Allace! quhat suld he do? oneth he wist);
Or with quhat wordis suld he now assay
The amorus queyn forto requir and pray;
Or on quhat wyss hys taill he mycht begyn;
Baith to and fra compasyng, hys breist within,
Feill purpossys for euery part about.
And, at the last, thus as he stude in dout,
Thys resson hym semyt fynaly the best:
He callys to hym Mynestheus and Sergest
And strang Cloanthus, and bad thai suld in hy
Do graith hys schyppys and navyn secretly,
And gaddir hys folkis towart the cost togydder,
Armour and al thyng necessar bring thyddir,
And to dissymyll, gif ony axit quhy
Thai thus addressyt thar geyr sa suddanly.
Hym self, he said, the meyn quhile, suld assay
To purches leif to pass and go away,
And wait hys tyme to speke tharof maist habill,
Quhen that the queyn Dido, maist honorabil,
Suld not beleif sa sone he kouth depart,
Nor sa gret luf dissyvir mycht be na art.
At hys command thai al glaidly furth went
And bissely begouth speid hys entent.
Bot sone the queyn persavyt al the slycht—
Quhay may begile a luffer, day or nycht?
Thar departing at hand fyrst scho aspyis,
Dredyng all sovir thing, as is the gyss
Of euery luffar altyme to stand in feir.
This ilke cursyt Fame we spak of eyr
Bair to the amorus queyn noyss and gan rown,
“The schippis ar grathand, to pass thai mak thaim boun.”
Quharfor, inpacient and myndles in hir rage,
Scho wyskis wild throu the town of Cartage,
Syk wyss as quhen thir nunnys of Bachus
Ruschis and relis our bankis, brays and buss,
Quhen, euery thryd ȝeir, on thar payane gyss,
Thar goddis feist thai hallow with lowd cryis,
That, al the nycht, the mont of Cytheron
Resoundis of thar clamour, quhar thai gone.
And at the last, ȝit thus, of hir fre will,
Eftir lang musyng, scho spak Eneas tyll:
“With dissymulance wenyt thou, onfaithfull wight,
Thou mycht haue hyd fra me sa fals a slycht,
And, myne onwyttyng, steill furth of my land?
That nothir our gret lufe, promys, nor rycht hand
Gevyn me vmquhile, may the heir withhald,
Nor cruel deth of Didois corss so cald!
Gif thou depart (and forthir quhat wald thou do,
In wyntir sesson press graith thi navy, lo!)
And the address to pass throu the wod see,
Myd tyme quhen stormys and wyndis blaw maist hie—
Art thou sa cruel? I put the cace, alsso,
That to nane onkouth landis the list go
Nother to fremmyt place, nor stedis will,
Bot that auld Troy war ȝyt vpstandand still;
Aucht thou, ȝit than, leif this weilfair and ioy,
And in sik perrell seik throu the sey to Troy?
Quhat! wilt thou fle from me? allace! allace!
Be all thir teris trygland our my face,
And be that rycht hand vmquhile thou me gave
(Sen to my self nocht ellis left I have,
Now wrachit catyve), be our treuth plychting eyk,
And be our spowsage begunnyn, I the beseik,
Gif euer ony thank I deservit towart the,
Or ocht of myne to the wes leif”, quod sche,
“Haue mercy of our lynnage reddy to spill;
Gif tyme remanys ȝyt thou heir prayeris will,
This fremmyt mynd, I pray ȝou, do away.
For the I haue beyn hatyt, this mony a day,
With all the pepill of Affrik, and with the kyng
That rewlys the land of Numyda and ryng;
For the myne awyn Tyrianys ar with me wraith;
For the is womanheid went and wirschip baith,
And my first fame, lavd and renownye,
Quharby I wes rasyt to the starnys hie.
Reddy to de and my selvyn to spill,
My sweit gest, quhamto thou me leif will?
My gest, ha God! quhou al thyng now invane is,
Quhen of my spowss nane othir name remanys!
Bot quharto suld I my ded langar delay?
Sal I abyde quhile thou be went away,
And quhil myne awyn brothir, Pigmaleon,
Bet down the wallis of my cite onon,
Or stern Hyarbas, kyng of Getule,
Led me away into captiuite?
Bot, at the leist, tofor thi wayfleyng,
Had I a child consavyt of thyne ofspryng,
Gif I had ony ȝong Eneas small,
Befor me forto play within my hall,
Quhilk representit by symylitude thi face,
Than semyt I nocht, thus wyss, allace! allace!
Aluterly dissauyt nor dissolate.”
Thus said the queyn Dido, in febil estate.
Bot, apon Iovis message fermly he
Stude musyng so, he movit nocht ane e,
Refrenyt his will, hydand in hart his thocht,
And, at the last, thir few wordis hess furth brocht:
“O gentil queyn, that sall I nevir deny,
Thy gude deid and desart is mair worthy
Than thou with wordis or tong may expreme;
Nor it sal nevir me irk, na ȝyt mysseym,
The worthy Dido to hald in fresch memory,
So lang as that my self remembir may I,
Or quhil the spreit of lyfe this body steris.
As the mater requiris, a litil heris:
I purposyt nocht forto hyde thyftuusly
My vayage, nor, as ȝe weyn, secretly
Away to steil; quhat nedis ȝou sa tofeyn?
For I pretendit nevir, be na meyn,
With ȝou to mak the band of mariage,
Nor in that ȝok, ne frendschip in Cartage,
Ȝyt come I nevir: bot gif the fatis, but pled,
At my plesour sufferit me lyfe to led,
At my fre wil my warkis to modyfy,
The cite of Troy than first agane suld I
Restore, and of our deir frendis remanys
Gaddir togiddir, and to the venquist Troianys
Raparal with my handis agane thar wallis,
And beild vp Priamus palyce at now fallis.
Bot sen Appollo, clepit Gryneus,
Gret Italy to seik commandis wss,
To Itale eik oraclys of Lycia
Admonyst ws, but mair delay, to ga;
Thar is my lust now and delyte at hand,
Thar is my cuntre and my natyve land.
Gif the, of Cartage the burgh and towris swa,
Quhilk art a woman of Phenycia,
And the aspect of citeis Affricane
Delytis, and withhaldis heir toremane,
Quhat wrang is it, causs of envy or schame,
Thocht Troianys seik to Itale for thar hame?
Or is it nocht als lesum and ganand
That fynaly we seik to onkouth land?
Als oft as day is gone, and the dyrk nycht
With hir donk schaddow hydis of the erth the sycht,
Als oft as schynyng starnys doith vpryss,
My faderis gost, Anchises, als feil syss
Into my sleip mannasis me tharto fast,
And oft his feirfull ymage doith me agast;
And in lyke wyss the child Ascanyus,
Quhais deir hed suffir iniurys is hard to ws,
Quham of the realm of Itail I defraud,
And fra the grond to hym promyst withhawd.
Be athir of our hedis this I sweir;
Now laitly eik of goddis the messynger,
From hie Iupiter in hasty message sent,
Down throu the ayr brocht the ilk commandment:
On fair day lycht, myne awyn self dyd I se
Mercur the god entyr in this cite,
And his wordis with thir sam eris hard I.
With thy complayntis ony langar, forthy,
Lat be to vex me, or thy self to spyll,
Sen I seik nocht to Itale with fre will.”