The fourth book of Virgil, entreating of the love between Aeneas & Dido, translated into English, and drawn into a strange metre by henry late Earl of Surrey, worthy to be embraced.  
¶ Imprinted at London by john Day, for William Awen, dwelling in Pater noster row, at the sign of the Cock.  ☞ Cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum.  ornamental woodcut border (not in McKerrow)  

¶ To the most puissant prince Thomas Duke of Norfolk, William Awen his most humble Orator wisheth perpetual health and felicity  
WHen it chanced a copy of this part of Virgil, translated by your grace's father (right honourable Lord) by the means of a friend of mine, to come to my hands: I not only held the same as no small treasure, because I had heard it, like as others the monuments of that noble wit of his, which was in this kind no doubt incomparable, of all men to be commended: but also my desire was great, at one time or other, if by a means convenient I might, to publish the same: and that the rather, because I could understand of no man that had a copy thereof, but he was more willing the same should be kept as a private treasure in the hands of a few, then published to the common profit and delectation of many. But forasmuch as my copy although it were taken of one, written with the authors own hand, was not yet so certain, that it might be thought of itself sufficient to be published, partly for that the writer had not time sufficient to the due examination thereof, after it was written, and also because the reading of the author's copy itself, by reason of speedy writing thereof was somewhat doubtful: for these causes, getting two other copies also, written out by other men, I caused mine to be conferred with them both, and of them that to be received, as most worthy to be allowed, which was both to the latin most agreeable, and also best standing with the dignity of that kind of mitre.  
And this my doing I trust no honest man shall be able to reprove, but rather it shall be an occasion, to such as favour the monimentes of so noble a wit, if they have a better copy to publish the same. As for the unthankful, I pass not how much they repine at my deed: so that I may understand your grace to take in good part my good will herein. Which if you do (as I nothing doubt of your grace's goodness) it shall no little encourage me hereafter to bring other his works to light, as they shall come to my hands. Thus beseeching our Lord god to continued your grace in wealth and increase of virtue, I wish you heartily well to far.  
¶ Your grace's most humble Orator William Owen.   

¶ The occasion of the love between Elissa the Queen of Cartage, after called Dido, and the Trojan lord Aeneas, briefly gathered out of Virgyll.  
AEneas a man of great prows, and one that had the Gods, his parents and country in much reverence and love, overpressed with cruel junos' wrath, in seeking Italy, roved upon the seas of Sicil, till after much tossing, at the last he arrived in the coasts of Libya: not knowing the same what country it was. But having with him his assured companion Achates, he learned by his mother, that the Lady Elissa was Queve thereof. After, conveyed under acloude he came to the city of Cartage, where the Queen was resident: and there meeting with others of his company, who by the like fortune were driven into the same costs, he was of the bountiful Queen received with much honour. To his company also which were upon the sea costs, she sent twenty bullocks. C. porks. C. lambs together with their dams, and thereto of wine great plenty: gifts fit for their entertainment, as that time, and as their necessity asked. The which Achates, sent by Aeneas to the sea, presented to them, and at his returning brought with him young julus Aeneas son, who by his father's commandment should for the Troyans' part likewise present to the Queen certain rich gifts, ornaments of the fair Elen, which they had got from the Grecians hands at their spoil of Troy. But the Goddess Venus, mother to Aeneas, who always doubted what would be the end of this her sons so great entertainment in a strange land, thought that thus she should best make all things sure, if she might by any means bring the Queen in love with him. Which thing to do she wrought this feat, she bids her son Cupid (who was the God of Love) address himself in the likeness of julus to go present the gifts, and in dalliance with the Queen privily to inspire her with unquenched fire of love. The child therefore julus coming with gifts to be to the Queen presented, she brought on sleep, & so carrying him in her lap into the mount Idalium, left him there amongst the flowers. In this mean time Cupid (as his mother had bidden him before) took upon him the shape of julus, goeth like to him accompanied with Achates, carrieth the gifts, and in stead of julus presenteth the same to the queen. She setteth her down to meat, causeth the Troyans' to sit down. The Tirians come together, which also sit down, commanded by her. They wonder at Aeneas his gifts, and at the goodly boy, whom they took to be julus: but of all others, unhappy Dido could never enough be hold either the sweet boy, or yet the presents, but still more & more is she inflamed, & what with the gifts, and with the child marvelously stirred. This child after he had hanged in the neck of Aeneas, so to beguile the love of his feigned father, setteth upon the Queen. He goth to her: she is with him maturilosly ravished, she imbraseth him, she takes him in her lap, and thus with kissing and colling, she delighteth herself. But the subtle boy Cupid, remembering what his mother had said to him, amongst these kisses breathed fire into the queens breast, which nought but death itself, or scarce that, could quench. He begins to make her by little and little to forgeite quite her former husband Sichens: he stirs up her mind so loath to be kindled, & assanltes that heart of hers, out of use with love. After meat, the board the boards removed, the mighty boles of gold set with stones, were plied with the wine, drinking there was, quassing one to an other, with great mirth and gladness. The Lord Inpas with his long tresses, king of Africa, played on his gilden Lute, singing of the course of the sun, the Move, of the original of mankind, of brute, of water and fire, of the rising of signs, of the shortness of days, and length of the nights. The Tyrians make huffing cheer, the Troyans' do the like. silly Dido also passing the vyghte with divers talk, drynckes a draft of love (alas) all to deep. Many a question she demands of the king Priam, many a one of Hector, in what armour came Vulcan, what manner horses Diomedes were: yea, she desires her new guest beginning at th'original of the matter, to tell her of the Greeks deceit, of the Troyans' chance, of his adventures by sea and land, in that his seven years travail. Which things by that time he had told from the beginning to the end, she was so inflamed in love, that sheen will what wai to take. And thus arose the love between Dido, and Aeneas, which is at large expressed in Virgil's fourth book of the Aenedes.  
(⁂)   

¶ The four book of Virgil.  

But now the wounded Queen with heavy care,  
Throughout the veins she nourisheth the plai,  
Surprised with blind flame: and to her mind.  
'Gan eke resort the prows of the man,  
And honour of his race: whiles in her breast  
Amprinted stack his words, and pictures form:  
Ne to her limbs care granteth quiet rest.  
The next morrow, with Pheebus' laumpe the earth  
Alyghtned elere, and eke the dawning day  
The shadows dark 'gan from the pole remove:  
When all unsound her sister of like mind  
Thus spoke she to: O sister Anne, what dreams  
Be these, that me tormented thus afray?  
What new guest is this, that to our realm is come:  
What one of cheer? how stout of heart in arms?  
Truly I think (ne vain is my belief)  
Of Goddish race some offspring should he be:  
Cowardry notes hearts swerved out of kind.  
He driven (Lord) with how hard destiny:  
What battles eke achieved did he tell?  
But that my mind is fyxte unmourably,  
Never with wight in wedlock aye to join:  
Sith my first love me left by death dissevered,  
If genial brands, and bed me loathed not,  
To this one fault perchance yet might I yield.  
Aim, for I grant, sith wretched Sichaeus death  
My spouse and house with brothers fewyde defiled,  
This only man he hath my senses bend,  
And pricked forth my mind, that 'gan to slide,  
Now feelyngly I taste the steps of mine old flame.  
But first I wish, the earth me swallow down,  
With thunder, or the mighty Lord me send  
To the pale ghosts of hell, and darkness deep:  
Or I thee stain, shamefastness, or thy law.  
He that with me first coppled, took away  
My love with him, still enjoy he in grave.  
Thus did she say, and with supprysed tears  
Bayned her breast. Whereto Anne thus replied:  
O sister, dearer beloved than the light:  
Thy youth alone in plaint still wilt thou spill  
That children sweet, nor Venus' gifts dost know?  
Doth dust (thinkest thou) mind this? or graved ghosts?  
Time of thy dole, thy spoule new dead, I grant.  
None might thee move: jarbas not to fear,  
The Lybian king despised yet by thee:  
And other princes more: whom the rich soil  
Of Africa breeds, in honours triumphant,  
Wilt thou also withstand the love, that likes thee?  
On this side, in the Getules town behold,  
A people bold unuanquyshed in war,  
And the undaunted Numydes compass thee,  
With Syrtes, the unfriendlye harbroughe:  
On tother hand, a desert realm for thirst  
The Barceans, whose fury stretches wide.  
What shall I touch the wars that move from tire?  
Or yet thy brother's threats?  
By God's purveyance it blewe, and junos' help  
The Troiaynes ships (I think) to run this course  
Sister, what town shalt thou see this become?  
through such ally how shall our kingdom rise?  
And by the aid of Trojan arms how great?  
How many ways shall Cartages glory grow?  
Thou only now beseech the Gods of grace  
By sacrifice: which ended, to thy house  
receive him: and forge causes of abode:  
Whiles winter frets the star and watery Orion,  
The ships shaken, unfriendly the season.  
Such words inflamed the kindled mind with love,  
Losened all shame, and gave the doubtful hope.  
And to the temples first they haste, and seek,  
By sacrifice for grace, with Hogreles of two years  
Chosen (as they ought) to Ceres, that gave laws,  
To Phoebus, Bacchus, and to juno chief,  
Which hath in care the band of marriage.  
Fair Dido held in her right hand the cup,  
Which twixt the horns of a white Cow she shed  
In presence of the God's passing before  
The altars fat, which she renewed oft  
With gifts that day, and beasts deboweled:  
Gazing for counsel in the entrales warm.  
Ay me, unskilful minds of prophesy  
Temples, or vows, what boot they in her rage?  
Gentle flame the mary's doth devowere:  
Whiles in the breast the silent wound keeps life,  
Unhappy Dido burns, and in her rage  
Throughout the town she wandereth up and down:  
Like the stricken Hind with shaft yshotte:  
Throughout the woods which chase with his darts  
Aloof, the Shepherd fasteneeth in her unware:  
And left in her unwist the thyrling head:  
That through the groves, and lands glides in her flight:  
Amid whose side the mortal arrow sticks.  
Aeneas nows about the wales she leads,  
The town prepared, and Cartage wealth to show,  
Offering to speak, amid the doyce, she whystes.  
And when the day 'gan fail, now feasts she makes  
The Trotanes travails to hear a new she lists  
In ragedal: and stared in his face  
That tells the tale. And when they were all gone:  
And the dim now reprysed the day light:  
And sliding stars provoked unto sleep:  
Alone she mourns within her pallyce void:  
And sits her down on her forsaken bed.  
And absent him she hears, when he is gone,  
And seeth eke: oft in her lap with holds  
Ascanus trapte by his father's form:  
So to beguile the love, that cannot be told.  
The turrets now arise not, erst begun,  
Neither the youth wields arms, nor they advance  
The ports: nor other defence they make for war.  
Broken there hang the works and mighty frames  
Of walls high raised, threatening to the sky.  
Whom assoon as joves' dear wife saw in effect  
With a pestilence, ne fame resist the rage:  
Saturn's daughter thus burdeneth Venus then.  
Great praise (quoth she) and worthy spoils you win.  
Thou and thy son, great Gods of memory,  
By both your wills one woman to devour.  
Yet am not I deceived that foreknew  
Thee dread our walls, and buildings to suspect  
Of high Cartage. But what shallbe the end?  
Or whereunto now serveth such debate?  
But rather peace, and bridal bands knit we,  
Sith thou hast sped of that, thy heart desired.  
Dido loves, and burns, the rage her bones doth pierce:  
This people is then now common to us both,  
With equal favours let us govern them,  
leeful be it to serve a Trojan spouse:  
And Tyrianes yield to thy right hand in dowry.  
To whom Venus replied thus: that knew,  
Her words proceeded from desmembled mind.  
To Lybian coasts to turn th'empire from Rome,  
What wight so fond, such offer to refuse?  
Or yet with thee had leaver strive in war?  
So be it fortune thy tale bring to effect,  
But destinies I doubt: lest jove will grant,  
That folk of tire, and such as came from Troy,  
Should hold one town: or grant these nations  
Mingled to be, or joined in a league.  
Thou art his wife: leeful be it for the  
For to attempt his fancy by request:  
Pass on before and follow thee I shall?  
Queen juno then thus took her tale again:  
This travail be it mine: but by what mean.  
(Mark in few words I shall thee learn eftsoons)  
This work in hand may now be compassed.  
Aeneas now, and wretched Dido eke  
The forest till, a hunting mind to wend,  
To morn as soon as Titan shall ascend,  
And with his beams hath overspread the world.  
Dum trepidantale.  
And whiles the ranger doth set the groves about:  
A cloudy shower mingled with hail  
Pour down on them, with thunder shake the skies.  
The assemble seattered the mist shall cloak.  
Dido a cave, the Trojan prince the same  
Shall enter to: and I will be at hand.  
And if thy will stick unto mine: I shall  
In wedlock sure knit, and make her his own.  
This shall the marriage be: to whose request  
Without debate Venus did seem to grant.  
And smiled fast, as she that found the wile  
Then from the seas, the dawning 'gan aryfe.  
The sun once up, the chosen youth 'gan thrunge  
Unto the gates: the hays so rarely knit,  
The hunting staves with their broad heads of steel  
And of masile the horsemen forth they broke  
Of scenting hounds a kennel huge lykewyfe.  
And at the threshold of her chamber door,  
The Cartage Lords did there the Queen await.  
The trampling steed with gold and purple decht,  
Chawing the foamy bit, there fiercely stood.  
Then issued she, backed with a great rout,  
Clad in a cloak of tire ymbradred rich  
Her quiver hung behind her back, her tresses  
Wownde up with gold, her purple vestures eke  
Butned with gold, the Trojans of her train  
Before her go, with gladsome julus.  
Aeneas eke the goodliest of the rout  
Makes one of them, and joineth close the throngs:  
Like when Apollo leaveth Lycia,  
His wyntring place, and Xanthus floods likewise:  
To visit Delos his mother's mansion:  
The Candians, and folks of Driopes,  
And painted Agathyrsies shout, and cry:  
When he walks upon mount Cynthus top:  
His sparkeled tresses he priest with garlands soft  
Of tender leaves, and trussed up in gold:  
His qwyvering darts clattering behind his back:  
So fresh and lusty did Aeneas seem:  
Such lordly port in countenance present.   

But to the hills, and wild holtes when they came:  
From the rocks topye then driven savage rose,  
Lo from the hill above to the other side,  
Through the wide lands: whereas there course  
The hearts likewise, in trumps taking their flight,  
Raising the dust, the mountain fast forsake.  
The child julus, blithe of his swift steed  
Amyds the plain now pricks by them, now thes:  
And to encounter wisheth oft in mind  
The foaming Boar in steed of tymerons beasts:  
Or Lion brown might from the hill descend.   

In the mean while the heavens 'gan roumble sore:  
In tail thereof, a mingled shower with hail.  
The Tyrian folk, and eke the Troyans' youth,  
And Venus neyhe we the coltage for fear  
Sought around about: the bloods fell from the hills.  
Dido a den, the Trojan prince likewise,  
Chanced upon. Our mother (then) the earth,  
And june that hath charge of marriage,  
first tokens gave with burning gleades of flame,  
And privy to the wedlock lightening skies:  
And the Nymphs waited from the mountains toy.  
Aim, this was the formest day of mirth,  
And of mishap the first occasion eke.  
Respect of fame no longer her with held:  
But museth how to frame her love by stealth.  
Wedlock she calls it: under which pretence  
Of that fair name she cloaketh now her fault.  
Forth with fame flieth through the great Libyan towns:  
A mischief fame, there is none else so swift:  
That moving grows, and flitting gathers force:  
First small for dread, soon after climes on high  
Perecing the earth, and hides her head in clouds.  
Whom our mother the earth, tempted by wrath  
Of Gods begat: the last sister (they write)  
To Caeus, and to Enceladus eke,  
Speedy of foot, of wings likewise swift  
A monster huge, breadful for to tell.  
For every plum, that on her bodystyckes,  
As many waker eyes lurk underneath  
So many mouths to speak, and hearkening ears.  
By might she flies amid the clouds and sky,  
Shrieking by the dark shadow of the earth,  
Ne doth delyne to the sweet fleepe her eyes.  
By day she sits to see, on the house top,  
Or turrets high and the great towns afrayes,  
Mindful of ill, and lies as blasting truth.  
This menster blithe with many a tale 'gan sow  
This rumour then into the commons ears:  
As well things done as that was never wrought:  
Aeneas cemmen, sprung of Trojan blood  
To whom fair Dido would herself be wed,  
Innatures lust the winter for to pass.  
Regnorum immemores, turpique cupidine captos.   

This in the mouths, the filthy God's spreddes,  
And takes her course to king jarbas straight,  
kindling his mind, with tales she fed his wrath,  
Gotten he was by Ammon jupiter  
Upon the ravished Garamantida.  
An hundred temples in his large realm be built,  
Altars as many, with waker burning flame,  
Awatche always upon the Gods to attend.  
Flowers embrused yielded blood of beasts,  
And threshold spread with garlands of strange hue.  
He would of mind, kindled by bitter bryntes,  
Afore the altars, in presence of the Gods,  
With reared hands 'gan humbly jove entreat,  
almighty God whom the moors nation  
Fed at rich tables presenteth with wine,  
Seest thou these things, or fear we thee in vain  
When thou lettest fly the thunder from the clouds,  
Whose flames of fire with vain noise us affray.  
A wandering woman in our coasts hath bought  
A plot for price: where she a village set:  
To whom we gave the strand for to manure,  
And laws to rule her town: our wedlock loathed,  
Hath choosed Aeneas to command her realm.  
That Paris now with his unmanly sort,  
With mitred hats, with ointed bush and beard,  
His rape enjoyeth: whiles to the temples we,  
Our offerings bring, and follow rumours vain,  
Whom praying in such sort, and griping eke  
The authors fast, the mighty father heard:  
And with his look 'gan thwart the ryal walls,  
And lovers eke forgetting their good name,  
To Mercury then gave he thus in charge.  
Hence son in haste, and call to thee the winds:  
Slide with thy plumes, and tell the Trojan prince,  
That now in Cartage loytereth, reckless  
Of the towns granted him, by destiny:  
Swift through the skies, see thou these words report.  
His fair mother behyte him not to us  
Such one to be: ne therefore him twice saved  
From Greekyshe arms, but italy to rule,  
Dreadful in arms, charged with signory,  
Discovering his worthy tencryne race:  
And under laws, the whole world to subdue.  
If glory of such things nought him inflame:  
Ne that he lists seek honour by some pain:  
The towers yet of Rome doth he envy  
To young Ascanus, that is his father.  
What mindeth he to frame? or by what hope  
In enemies land doth he make his abode?  
Ne his offspring in Italy regards?  
Ne yet the land of Lavin doth behold?  
Bid him make sail: have here the sum:  
Our messenger thus report. Then Mercury 'gan,  
When jove had said, bend him to obey  
His mighty father's will: and to his heels  
His golden wings he knits, which him transport:  
With a light wind above the earth, the seas.  
His wand he took, where with he calls from hell  
Pale ghosts: other some also thither he sends  
Comfortless,  
Whereby he foreceth sleeps, and them bereaves,  
And mortal eyes he closeth up in death:  
By power whereof he drives the winds away.  
And passeth eke amid the the troubled clouds.  
And in his flight he gan descry the top,  
And the steep flanks of rocky Atlas' hill:  
That with his shoulders susteines the welkin up:  
Whose head for crown, with pine circled always,  
With misty clouds beaten, with wind and storm:  
His shoulders spread with snow, and from his chins  
The springs descend: his frosted beard with ice.  
Here Mercury with equal shining wings  
First touched, and with the body headling bet:  
To the water thence took he his extent.  
Like to the foul, that endlong costs and strands  
Swarming with fish, flies sweping by the sea:  
Rushing betwixt the winds and Libyan lands  
From his grandfather by the mother's side.  
Cyllenes child so came, and then alight  
Upon the houses with his winged feet.  
For towers, whereas he Aeneas saw  
Foundations cast, are ring lodges new:  
Gyrt with a sword of jasper starry brigh  
Of Tyrian purple hung his shoulders down  
His shining paul of mighty Dido's gift,  
stripped throughout with a thine third of gold.  
Thus he encounters him: Oh careless wight  
Both of thy realm, and of thine own affairs:  
A married man now dost thou rear the walls  
Of high Cartage, to build a goodly town.  
From the skies bright the ruler of the Gods  
Sent me to thee, that by his beck commanndes  
Both heaven and earth, in haste gave me charge  
Through the light air this message there to say.  
Why buildest thou? or by what hope thy time  
In idleness thus wastes in Affrycke land?  
Of so great things, if nought the fame thee stir,  
Ne lists by travail honour to pursue:  
Ascanus yet, that waxeth fast behold,  
And the hope of julus seed thine heir:  
To whom the realm of Italy belongs,  
And soil of Rome. When Mercury had said:  
Amid his tale far of from mortal eyes  
Into light air, he vanisheth out of sight.   

Well near bestraught, upstart his hear for dread,  
Amid his throat, his voice likewise 'gan stick.  
For to departed by night he longeth now,  
And the sweet land to leave astonied sore.  
By the advise, and meswage of the Gods  
What may he do, alas? or by what words  
Dare he persuade the raging Queen in love?  
Or in what sort dare he his tale begin?  
Now here now there, his reckless mind 'gan run,  
And diversly him draws discussing all.  
After long doubts this sentence seemed best:  
Anestheus first, and strong Cloanthus eke  
He calls to him, with sergest unto whom  
He gave in charge his navy secretly  
For to prepare, and drew to the sea coast,  
His people, and their armour to address:  
And for the change of things to feign a seuse,  
And that he would, when Dido lest foreknew,  
Or did suspect, so great a love could break,  
Await his time to speak thereof most meet:  
The nearest way to chasten his intent.  
Gladly his will, and hyddynges they obey.  
Full soon the Queen, this crafty slight 'gan smell,  
Who can deceive a lover in forecast?  
And first foresaw the motions for to come,  
Things most assured fearing: unto whom  
That wicked fame reported, how to flight  
Was armed the ship all ready to avail.  
Then ill bestead of counsel rageth she:  
And whysketh through the town like Bacchus munite  
Bacchatur, qualis commotis excita sacris  
Thias, ubi audito stimulant Trieterica Baccho  
Orgia, nocturnus que vocat clamore Cithaeron.   

At length thus boards she Aeneas of herself.  
unfaithful wight, to cover such a flight,  
Couldst thou hope unwist to leave my land?  
Not thee our love, nor yet right hand betrothed,  
Ne cruel death of Dido may with hold?  
But that thou wilt in winter ships prepare,  
Cruel to try the seas in boisterous winds.  
What if the land thou seekest, were not strange,  
If not unknown? or ancient Troy stood,  
In rough seas, yet should Troy town be sought?  
Shunnest thou me: by these tears and right hand,  
(For nought else have I wretched left myself)  
By our spousals, and marriage begun,  
If I of thee deserved ever well:  
Or thing of mine were ever to thee lief:  
Rue on this realm, whose ruin is at hand,  
I thee bescche: and do away this mind.  
The Lybians and Tirians tyrants of Nomadane  
For thee me hate: my Tyrians eke are wroth  
My shame fastness eke stained for thy cause,  
And good renown, whereby up to the stars  
Peerless I came. To whom wilt thou me leave  
Ready to die, my sweet guest? sith this name  
Is all as now, that of a spouse remains.  
But whereto now should I prolong my death?  
To tarry till my brother Pygmalion  
Beat down my walls? or the Getulyan king  
jarbas yet captive lead me away?  
Before the flight a child had I conceived;  
Or seen a young Aeneas in my court  
To play up and down, that did present thy face,  
All utterly I could not seem forsaken.   

Thus said the Queen: he to the God's advise  
unmoved held his eyes, and in his breast  
Repressed his care, and strove against his will.  
These words yet at last then forth he cast:  
Never shall I deny (Queen) thy desert  
Greater than thou in words may well express:  
To think on thee, ne irk me aye it shall:  
Whiles of myself I shall have memory,  
And whiles the spirit these sinews of mine shall rule,  
It is not great the thing that I require:  
Neither meant I to cloak the same by steith  
Slander me not, ne to escape by flight,  
Nor I to thee pretended marriage:  
Ne hither came to join such leagues.  
If destiny at mine own liberty  
To lead my life would have permitted me  
After my will my sorrow to redout:  
Troy and the remainder of our folk  
Restore I should: and with these escaped hands,  
The wails again unto thee vanquished  
And palace high of Priam eke repair.  
But now Apollo, called Gryneus,  
And prophecies of Licia will me advise  
To lease upon the realm of Italy,  
That is my love, my country, and my land.  
If Cartage turrets thee of Phoenis land,  
And of a Lybian town the sight detain:  
To us Trowns why dost thou envy  
In Italy to make our residence?  
leeful it is for us strange realms to seek.  
As oft as night doth cloak with shadows darks  
The earth: as oft as flaming stars appear:  
The troubled ghost of my father Anchises  
So oft in sleep doth me fear, and advise.  
The wronged heed by me of my dear son,  
Whom I defraud of the Hispriane crown,  
And lands allotted him by destiny.  
The messenger eke of the Gods of late  
Sent down from jove (I swear by either heed)  
Passing the air, did this to me report.  
In bright day yght the God myself I saw  
Entre these walls, and with these ears him heard.  
Leave then with plaint, to vex both the and me.  
Against my will to Italy I go.   

Whiles in this sort he did his tale pronounce:  
With wayward look she 'gan him aye behold,  
And rolling eyes, that moved to and fro:  
With silence look discoursing over all,  
And forth in rage, at last thus 'gan she brayed,  
Faithless, forsworn, thy dame ne Gods was,  
Nor Dardanus beginner of thy race,  
But of hard rocks mount Tancase monstrous  
Bred thee, and teats of Tiger gave thee suck.  
But what should I dyscemble now my cheer?  
Or me reserve to hope of greater things?  
Minds he our tears? or ever moved his eyen?  
Wept he for ruth? or pitied he our love?  
What shall I set before? or where begin?  
juno nor jove with just eyes this beholds.  
There is no faith, no surety to be found.  
Did I not him throne up upon my shore  
In need receive, and fonded foolish eke invest  
Of half my realm? his navy lost, repair?  
From deaths danger his fellows eke defend  
Aime, with rage and furies am I drive.  
Apollo now, now Lycian prophecies,  
Another while the messenger of the Gods.  
(He says) sent down from mighty jove himself  
The dreadful charge amid the skies hath brought.  
As though that were the travail of the Gods,  
Or such a care their quietness might move.  
I hold thee not, nor yet gainsay thy words,  
To Italy pass on by help of winds,  
And through the floods go search thy kingdom news  
If ruthful Gods have any power I trust,  
Amid the rocks, thy hire thou shalt find,  
When thou shalt cleape full oft on Dido's name,  
With burial brands I absent shall thee chase.  
And when cold death from life these limbs devydes,  
My ghost each where shall still upon thee wait,  
Thou shalt abye, and I shall here thereof.  
Among the souls below this brute shall come.  
With such like words she cut of half her tale,  
With pensive heart abandoning the light:  
And from his sight, herself 'gan far remove:  
For saking him: that many things in fear  
imagined, and did prepare to say.  
Her swooning limbs her damsels 'gan relcue,  
And to her chamber bare of marble stone:  
And laid her on her bed with tappettes spread.  
But just Aeneas though he did desire,  
With comfort sweet her sorrows to appease:  
And with his words to banish all her care:  
To wail her much, with great love overcome,  
By the Gods will yet works he, and resorts  
Unto his navy, where the Trojans fast  
Fel to their work from the shore to unstocke  
High charged ships: now fleets the talowed keel,  
Their owers with leaves yet green from the would they bring  
And masts unshave, for haste to take their flight.  
You might have seen them thrunge out of the town  
Like Anttes, when they do spoil the buige of corn:  
For winters dread which they bear to their den:  
When the black swarm creeps over all the fields:  
And thwart the grass by straight paths drags their prey,  
The great grains them, some on their shoulders truss,  
Some drive the troop, some chastise eke the flow?  
That with their travail chafed is each path.  
Beholding this, what thought might Dido have?  
What sights gave she? when from her towers of height  
The large coasts she saw hauted with Troyans' works,  
And in her sight the seas with din confounded.  
O witless love, what thing is that to do  
A mortal mind thou canst not force thereto?  
Forced she is to tears, and to return  
By new requests, and yield the heart to love,  
Lest she should before her causeless death  
Leave any thing untried: O sister Anne  
Quoth she, behold the whole coast round about,  
How they prepare assembled every where.  
The strained sail abideth but for wind:  
The shipmen crown their ships with bows for joy,  
O sister, if so great a sorrow I  
mistrusted had: it were more light to bear.  
Yet nevertheless this for me a wretched wight,  
Anne, shalt thou do: for faithless thee alone  
He reverenced, and eke his secrets told:  
The meetest times thou knewest to board the man:  
To my proud foe, thus sister humbly say:  
I with the Greeks in the port Aulide  
Countured not the Troyans' to destroy:  
Nor to the walls of Troy yet sent my fleet:  
Nor cinders of his father Anchises  
Disturbed aye out of his sepulture:  
Why lets he not my words sink in his ears?  
So hard for to entreat, whither whirls he?  
This last boon yet grant he his wretched love:  
Prosperous winds for to departed with ease  
Let him abide: the foresaid marriage now,  
That he betrayed, I do not him require:  
Nor that he should fair Italy forego:  
Neither I would, he should his kingdom leave:  
Quiet I ask, and a time of delay  
And respite eke my fury to assuage  
Till my mishap teach me all comfortless,  
How for to wail my grief this latter grace,  
Sister I crave, have thou remorse of me,  
Which if thou shalt vouchsafe, with heaps I shall  
Leave by my death well rendered unto thee.  
Mingled with tears, thus wretched 'gan she plain,  
Which Anne reports, and answer bring again.  
Nought tears him move, ne yet to any words  
He harkens, though that he were mild of kind,  
Destinies withstand, and god stops his meek ears.  
Like to the aged boisterous bodied oak,  
Amid the alpes, which that Nor than winds,  
Blowing now from this, now from that quarter blow,  
Betwixt them strive to overwhelm with blasts,  
The whistling air among the branches rores,  
Which all at once bow to the earth their crops,  
The stock once smit, whiles in the rocks the tree  
sticks fast, and look, how high to the heaven his top  
Rears up, as deep his root spreddes down to hell:  
So was this Lord now here now there beset  
With words, in whose stout breast wrought many cares,  
But still his mind in one remains, in vain  
The tears were shed. Then Dido frayed of fates  
wished for death, irketh to see the skies.  
And that she might the rather work her will,  
And leave the light (a grisly thing to tell)  
Upon the altars burning full of sense.  
When she set gifts of sacrifice, she saw  
The holy water stocks wax black within,  
The wine eke shed, change into filthy gear,  
Which sight to none, not to her sister told.  
A marble temple in her palace eke,  
In memory of her old spouse, there stood,  
In great honour and worship, which she held,  
With snow white clothes decked, & with bows of feast,  
Where oft was heard, her husbands voice, and speech  
Clipping for her, when dark night hid the earth  
And oft the Owl with rueful song complain,  
From the house top to draw his plaining tunes  
And many things forespoke by prophets passed  
With dreadful warning 'gan her now affray:  
And stern Aeneas seemed in her sleep  
To chase her still about, bestraught in rage:  
And still her thought, that she was alone  
Vnwayted on great voyages to wend.  
In desert land her Tyrian folks to seek.  
Like Pentheus, that in his madness saw  
Swarming in flocks the furies all of hell:  
Two suns remove, and Thebes town show twain.  
Or like Orestes Agamemnon's son:  
In tragedies who represented ays  
driven about, that from his mother fled,  
Armed with brands, and eke with serpent's blacks:  
That sitting sound within the temples porch  
The hugely furies his slaughter to revenge  
Yelden to woe, when frenzy had her caught:  
Within herself than 'gan she well debate  
Full bend to die the time, and eke the mean:  
And to her woeful sister thus she said,  
In outward cheer, dissembling her intent,  
Presenting hope under semblant glad:  
Sister rejoice, for I have found the way  
Him to return, or lose me from his love.  
Toward th'end of the great Octian,  
Where as the Sun descendeth, and declines:  
In the extremes of Ethiope is a place,  
Where huge Atlas doth on his shoulders turn  
The sphere so round, with flaming stars beset,  
Borne of masile, I hear should be a nun  
Of the Hysperiane sisters temple  
The garden that gives the Dragon food  
That on the tree preserves the holy fruit  
With honey moist, and poppy that sleep provokes  
This woman doth avaunt, by force of charm  
What heart she list to set at lybextye:  
And other some to perece with heavy cares:  
In running flood to stop the water's course:  
And eke the stars their mevinges to reverse:  
The ghosts that walk by night, eke to assemble:  
Under thy feet, th'earth thou shalt behold  
Tremble and roar, the oaks fall from the hill.  
The Gods and thee, dear sister, now I call  
In witness, and thy head so sweet:  
To Magic arts against my will I bend.  
Right secretly within our inner court,  
In open air rear up a stake of wood:  
And hang thereon the weapon of this man  
The which he left within my chamber stick.  
His weeds despoiled all, and brydeall bed,  
Wherein alas Sister, I found my bane:  
Charge thereupon, for so the Nun commands,  
To do away, what did to him belong:  
Of that false wight that might remembrance bring.   

Then whysted she, the pale her face 'gan stain,  
Ne could yet Anne believe, her sister meant  
To cloak her death by this new sacrifice:  
Nor in her breast such fury did conceive,  
Neither doth she now dread more grievous thyug,  
Then followed Sichaeus death: wherefore  
She put her will in ure  
But the Queen, when thestake was reared up,  
Under the air within the inward court  
With cloven oak, and byllettes made of fir,  
With garlands then, she doth beset the place,  
And with green bows eke crown the funeral.  
And thereupon his weeds and sword forsook,  
And on his bed his picture she bestows:  
As she that well foreknew what was to come.  
The altars stand about, and eke the Nun  
With sparkeied tress, the which three hundred Gods  
With a loud voice doth thunder out at once:  
Erebus the griselye, and Chaos eke,  
The three fold Goddess Proserpina,  
And three faces of Diana the Virgin  
And spryncles eke the water counterfeit  
Like unto the black Avernes lake in hell,  
And springing herbs reaped with brazen scythes  
Were sought after the right course of the Moon,  
Their venom black intermingled with milk  
The lump of flesh between the new borne fools eyes  
To reave, that winneth from the dam her love.  
She with the Mole all in her hands devout  
Stood near the altar, bare of the one foot,  
With vesture lose, the bands unlaced all:  
Bend for to die, calls the Gods to record,  
And gyity stars eke of her destiny.  
And if there were any God that had care  
Of lovers unequal in behest:  
Him she requires of justice to remember.   

It was then night, the sound and quiet sleep  
Had through the earth the wearied bodies caught,  
The woods, the raging seas were fallen to rest,  
When that the stars had half their course declined,  
The fields whist, beasts, and fowls of divers hue,  
And what so that in the broad longs remained,  
Or yet among the bushy thicks of brfar,  
Laid down to sleep by silens of that night  
'Gan suage their cares, myndles of travails pass  
Not so the spirit of this Phenysian:  
Unhappy she, that on no sleep could chance:  
Nor yet might rest in eye, nor breast could entre,  
Her cares redoble: love rise and rage again,  
And overflows with swelling storms of wrath.  
Thus thinks she then, this rolls she in her mind.  
What shall I do? shall I now bear the scorn  
For to assay mine old wooers again?  
And humbly yet a nunned spouse require?  
Whose marriage I have so oft dysdeyned?  
The Trojan navy, and Teucryne vile commands  
Follow shall I? as though it should avail,  
That whilom by my help they were relieved:  
Or for because with kind, and mindful folk  
Right well doth sit the passed thankful deed:  
Who would me suffer? (admit this were my will)  
Or scorned me to their proud ships receive?  
Oh, woe begone: full little dost thou wot.  
Or smell the broken oaths of Laomedon's kind.  
What then? alone on merry Mariners  
Shall I wait? or board them with my power:  
Of Tyryans' assembled me about,  
And such as I with travail brought from tire,  
drive to the seas, and force them fail again?  
But rather die, even as thou hast deserved:  
And to this we with Ire give thou end.  
And thou sister vanquished with my tears,  
Thou in my rage with all the mischief first  
Did burden me, and wish me to my foe,  
Was it not granted me from spousals free,  
Like to wild beasts, to live without offence  
Without taste of such cares? is there no faith,  
Reserved to the cinders of Sycheus?  
Such great complaint broke forth out of her breast:  
Whiles that Aeneas certain to departed,  
All things prepared, slept in the poop on bygh.  
To whom in sleep the wonted God heads form  
'Gan aye appear, returning in like shape  
As seemed him: and 'gan him thus advise:  
Like unto Mercury in voice, and hue,  
With yellow bush, and comely limbs of youth.  
O Goddess son, in such case canst thou sleep?  
Ne yet be straught the dangers dost foresee,  
That copasse thee? nor hearest the fair winds blow:  
Dido in mind rolls vengeance and deceit,  
Certain of death, swells with ●…ble Ire.  
Wilt thou not fly, while, thou h●… time of flight?  
Strait shalt tho 〈…〉 overed with sails  
The blazing brands ●he shore stayed all with flame:  
And if the morrow 〈…〉 the here:  
Come of, have 〈…〉 on side,  
Full of chan〈…〉 en be always.  
This 〈…〉 night he 'gan him hide.   

〈…〉 sudden vision  
A●…rad starts up from his sleep in haste,  
〈◊〉 up his fears awake get up my men,  
Aboard your ships, and hoist up sail with speed,  
〈◊〉 God me wills sent from jove again)  
To hast my flight, and writhen cables cut.  
Oh holy God, what so thou art we shall  
Follow thee, and all blithe obey thy will:  
Be at out hand, and friendly us asyst:  
Address the stars with prosperous influence.  
And with that word his glistering sword unshethes,  
With which drawn he the cables cut in twain.  
The like desire the rest embraced all,  
All sh in haste they wrest, and forth they whirl,  
The shores they leave, with ships the scas are spread,  
Cutting the some, by the blue seas they sweep.  
Aurora now from Titan's purpie bed,  
With new day light hath overspread the earth,  
When by her windows the Queen the creking days  
espied, and the navy with splayed sails depart  
The fhore, and eke the port of vessels void.  
Her comely breast three or four times she smote  
With her own hand, and toare her golden tress.  
Oh jove (quoth she) shall he hence thus departed  
A stranger thus, and scorn our kingdom so?  
Shall not my men do on their armour priest?  
And eke pursue them throughout all the town?  
And out of the road soon shall the vessel warp.  
Haste on, cast flame, hoist sail, and weld your owers.  
What said I? but where am I? what frenzy  
altars thy mind, unhappy Dido? now  
Hath thee beset a froward destiny.  
Then it behoved, when thou with him devydedst  
The seepture lo, his faith, and his right hand,  
That leads with him (they say) his country goods?  
That on his back his aged father bore,  
His body might I not have caught and rend?  
And in the seas drenched him, and his fears?  
And from Ascanus his life with Iron rest?  
And set him on his father's board for meat?  
Of such debate perchance the fortune might  
Have been doubtful, would God it were assayed,  
Whom should I fear? syths I myself must die.  
Might I have thrown into that navy brands,  
And filled eke their decks with flaming fire,  
The father, son, and all their nation  
Destroyed, and fall myself there overall.  
Sun with thy beams, that mortal works discryes,  
And thou juno, that well these travails knows,  
proserpine thou, upon whom folk do use  
To howl, and call in forked ways by night,  
Infernal furies eke, ye wreakers of wrong,  
And Dido's Gods, who stands at point of death,  
receive these words, and eke your heavy power  
Wythdra we from me, that wicked folk deserve,  
And our request accept, we you beseech.  
If so that yonder wicked head must needs  
Recover port, and sail to land of force,  
And if joves' will have so resolved,  
And such end hath set as no wight can foredoe,  
Yet at the least asayled mought he be  
With arms, and wars of hardy nations,  
From the bounds of his kingdom far eryled,  
julus eke ravished out of his arms,  
driven to call for help, that he may see  
The guiltless corpses of his folk lie dead.  
And after hard conditions of peace,  
His realm, nor life desired may he brook:  
But fall before his time unburied amid the sands.  
This I require, these words with blood I shed.  
And Tyrians, ye his stock and all his race  
Pursue with hate, reward our finders foe,  
No love nor league, betwixt our people's be.  
And of our bones, some wreaker may there spring,  
With sword and flame that Troyans' may pursue,  
Now from henceforth when power may stretch,  
Our costs to them contrary be they for aye,  
I crave of God, and our streams to their floods,  
Arms unto arms, and of spring of each rate.  
This said, her mind she writhed over all sides,  
Seeking with speed to end this irksome life.  
To Sichaeus nurse Barcen then briefly thus she said:  
For hers at home in ashes did remain.  
Call unto me dear nurse my sister Anne:  
Bid her, in haste in water of the flood  
She sprinkle the body, and bring the beasts,  
And purging sacrifice, I did her show:  
So let her come: and thou thy temples bind  
With sacred garlands, for the sacrifice,  
That I to Pluto have begun my mind,  
Is to reform, and give end to these cares:  
And Trojan statue throw into the flame.  
When she had said: redouble 'gan her nurse  
Her steps, forth on an aged woman's trot,  
But trembling Dido all eagerly now bend  
Upon her stern determination,  
Her blood shot eyes rolling within her head:  
Her quivering cheeks flecked with deadly stain,  
Both pale and wan, to think on death to come,  
Into the inward wards of her palace  
She rusheth in: and clam up as distraught  
The burial stack: and drew the Trojan sword  
Her gift sometime, but meant to no such use.  
Where when she saw his weed, and well known bed,  
Weeping a while, in study 'gan she stay,  
Fell on the bed, and these last words she said.  
Sweet spoils, whiles God and destiny did permit,  
receive this spirit, and rid me of these cares.  
I lived and ranue the course, fortune did grant,  
And under earth my great ghost now shall wend  
A goodly town I built, and saw my walls:  
Happy, alas to happy, if these costs  
The Trojan ships had never touched aye.   

This said, she laid her mouth close to the bed:  
Why then (quoth she) unwroken shall we die?  
But let us die for thus, and in this sort  
It liketh us to seek the shadows dark.  
And from the seas the cruel Trojan eyes  
Shall well decern this flame, and take with him  
Eke these unlucky tokens of my death.  
As she had said, her damsel might perceive  
Her with these words fall peresed on the sword,  
The boling blood with gore and hands imbrued.  
The clamour rang unto the palace top,  
The brute ran throughout all thastonied town:  
With wailing great, and women's lamenting.  
The roofs 'gan roar, the air resound with plaint  
As though Cartage, or ancient town of tire  
With press of entered enemies swarmeo full:  
Or when the rage of furious flame doth take  
The temples tops, and mansions eke of men.   

Her sister Anne, spryteles for dread to hear  
This fearful stir, with nails 'gan tear her face,  
She smote her breast, and rushed through the rout:  
And dying thus she cleapes her by her name:  
Sister, for this did you with craft me bouroe?  
The stake, the flame, the auters breed they this?  
What shall I first complain, forsaken wight?  
Loathest thou in death thy sisters fellowship?  
Thou should have called me to like destiny:  
One woe, one sword, one hour mought end us both.  
This funeral stake built I with these hands,  
Or with this voice cleped our native Gods  
As cruel for to absent me from thy death?  
destroyed thou hast (sister) both thee and me,  
Thy people eke, and princes borne at tire,  
give, here I shall with water wash her wounds:  
And suck with mouth her breath, if ought be left.   

This said, unto the high degrees she mounted,  
Embracing fast her sister now half dead:  
With waylefull plaint, whom in her lap she laid  
The black swart gear wiping dry with her clothes.  
But Dido strove for to life up again  
Her heavy eyen, and hath no power thereto:  
Deep under her breast, the fixed wound doth gape.  
Thrice leaning on her elbow 'gan she raise  
Herself upward: and thrice she overthrew  
Upon the bed: ranging with wandering eyes  
The skies for light: and wept when she it found.   

almighty juno having ruth by this  
Of her long pains, and eke her lingering death,  
From heaven she sent the Goddess Iris down,  
The thralling spirit, and jointed limbs to lose.  
For that neither by lot of destiny,  
Nor yet by natural death she perished:  
But wretchedly before her fatal day,  
And kindled with a sudden rage of flame:  
proserpine had not yet from her head bereft  
The golden hear: nor judged her to hell.  
The dewy Iris thus with golden wings,  
A thousand hues showing against the sun,  
Amid the skies than did she fly adown:  
On Dido's head, where as she 'gan alight,  
This hear (quoth she) to Pluto consecrate.  
Commanded I bereave, and eke thy spirit unloose  
From this body: and when she had thus said,  
With her right hand she cut the hear in twain:  
And therewith all the natural heat 'gan quenches  
And into wind the life forth with resolve.   
FINIS.