XXII.

THE WANDERING PRINCE OF TROY.

This excellent old ballad, which perhaps ought to have been placed earlier in the volume, is given from the editor's folio MS. collated with two different printed copies, both in black letter in the Pepys collection.

The reader will mile to obferve with what natural and affecting fimplicity, our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic conclufion on the claffic ftory of Virgil, from whom, however, it is probable he had it not. Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt out his poetical justice with a more impartial band, than that celebrated poet.

WHEN Troy towne had, for ten yeares paft,'

Withstood the Greeks in manful wife,

Then did their foes increase so fast,

That to refift nought could fuffice:

Waft lye thofe walls, that were foe good,
And corn now grows where Troy towne ftood.

Æneas, wandering prince of Troy,
When he for land long time had fought,
At length arriving with great joy,

To mighty Carthage walls was brought;
Where Dido queen, with fumptuous feast,
Did entertaine this wandering guest.

Ver. 1, 21, war. MS and PP.

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And

The heavy hap and chance fo bad,

Which thou poore wandering prince haft had.

And then anon this comely knight,

With words demure, as he could well,

Of their unnappy ten yeares'fight',

So true a tale began to tell,

With words fo fweet, and fighs fo deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.

And then a thousand fighes he fet,

And everye fighe brought teares amaine,

That where he fate the place was wet,

As though he had feene thofe warrs againe ;

Soe that the queene, with ruth therefore,
Sayd, worthye prince, enough, no more.

And now the darkfome night drew on,
And twinkling ftarres the skye befpred,

When he his dolefull tale had done,

And everye one was laid in bed:

Where they full fweetlye took their rest,

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As one unhappy, alwaies wept,

And to the walls fhee made her mone;
That fhee fhould fo defire in vaine
The thing, that shee could ne'er obtaine.

And thus in griefe fhee spent the night,

Till twinkling ftarres the fkye were fled,
And Phoebus with his gliftering light,
Through mifty cloudes appeared red;
Then tidings came to her anon,
How that the Trojan shipps were gone.

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And then the queene against her life
Did arme her heart as hard as stone,

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Yet, ere fhe bared the bloody knife,

In woefull wife fhee made her mone,

And rolling on her carefull bed,

With fighes and fobs, thefe words shee fed :

In vaine thou pleadst I should forbeare,
And stay my hand from bloody ftroke;
Thee, treacherous heart, I must not fpare,
Which fettered me in Cupids yoke.

Come

Come death, quoth fhee, refolve my smart:
And with those words the pierc'd her heart.

When death had pierc'd the tender heart
Of Dido Carthaginian queene ;

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And all things finifht mournfullye ;
Her bodye fine in mold was laid,
Where itt confumed speedilye:

Her fifters teares her tombe beftrew'd;
Her fubjects griefe their kindneffe fhew'd.

Then was Æneas in an ile

In Grecia, where he ftay'd long space,
Whereatt her fifter in fhort while,
Writt to him to his vile difgrace;

In fpeeches bitter to his minde,
Shee told him plaine, hee was unkinde.

Falfe-hearted wretch, quoth fhee, thou art,
And traiterouslye thou haft betraid
Unto thy lure a gentle heart,

Which unto thee much welcome made;
My fifter deare, and Carthage joy,
Whofe folly bred her dere annoy.

O 2

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Yet

Yet on her death-bed when shee laye,
Shee prayed for thy profperitye,
Befeeching god that every day

Might breed thee great felicitye:
Thus by thy meanes I loft a friend;
Heaven fend thee fuch untimely end.

When he thefe lines, full fraught with gall,
Perufed had, and weighed them right,
His lofty courage 'gan to fall;

And straight appeared in his fight
Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale;

Which made this valliant fouldier quail.

Eneas, quoth this ghaftly ghost,
My whole delight while I did live,

Thee of all men I loved moft;

To thee my fancye I did give; And for the welcome I thee gave, Unthank fully thou didst me grave.

Where deadlye griefe shall make it howle,

Because of me thou tookst no care:

Delay not time, thy glaffe is run,

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Thy date is past, thy death is come.

O ftay a while, thou lovelye fpright,
Be not so hasty to convay

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My