Great or good, or kind or faire,
I will ne'er the more dispaire:
If she love me, this beleeve;
I will die ere she shall grieve,

If she slight me when I wooe,
I can scorne and let her goe:
If shee be not fit for me,

What care I for whom she bę?

And, rowling on her carefull bed, With sighes and sobbs, these words shee sayd:

O wretched Dido queene! quoth shee,
I see thy end approacheth neare;
For hee is fled away from thee,
Whom thou didst love and hold so
deare:

What is he gone, and passed by?
O hart, prepare thyselfe to dye.

Though reason says, thou shouldst forbeare,

And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke; Yet fancy bids thee not to fear,

Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke. Come death, quoth shee, resolve my smart!

And with those words shee peerced her hart.

When death had pierced the tender hart

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene; Whose bloudy knife did end the smart, Which shee sustain'd in mournfull

teene;

Eneas being shipt and gone,
Whose flattery caused all her mone;

Her funerall most costly made,

And all things finisht mournfullye; Her body fine in mold was laid,

Where itt consumed speedilye: Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde; Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed.

Then was Æneas in an ile

In Grecya, where he stayd long space, Wheras her sister in short while

Writt to him to his vile disgrace ;

In speeches bitter to his mind
Shee told him plaine he was unkind.

False-harted wretch, quoth shee, thou
art;

And traiterouslye thou hast betraid

Unto thy lure a gentle hart,

Which unto thee much welcome
made;

My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,
Whose folly bred her deere annoy.

Yett on her death-bed when shee lay,
Shee prayd for thy prosperitye,
Beseeching god, that every day

Might breed thy great felicitye:
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend;
Heavens send thee such untimely end.

When he these lines, full fraught with gall,

Perused had, and wayed them right, His lofty courage then did fall;

And straight appeared in his sight Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale : Which made this valliant souldier quaile.

Eneas, quoth this ghastly ghost,

My whole delight when I did live,
Thee of all men I loved most;

My fancy and my will did give;
For entertainment I thee gave,
Unthankefully thou didst me grave.

Therfore prepare thy flitting soule
To wander with me in the aire :
Where deadlye griefe shall make it
howle,

Because of me thou tookst no care:
Delay not time, thy glasse is run,
Thy date is past, thy life is done.

O stay a while, thou lovely sprite,
Be not soe hasty to convay
My soule into eternall night,
Where itt shall ne're behold bright
day.

O doe not frowne; thy angry looke
Hath "all my soule with horror shooke."*

But, woe is me! all is in vaine,
And bootless is my dismall crye;

*MS.: Hath made my breath my life for sooke.

Time will not be recalled againe,

Nor thou surcease before I dye. O lett me live, and make amends To some of thy most dearest friends.

But seeing thou obdurate art, And wilt no pittye on me show, Because from thee I did depart,

And left unpaid what I did owe:

I must content myselfe to take What lott to me thou wilt partake.

And thus, as one being in a trance, A multitude of uglye feinds About this woffull prince did dance; He had no helpe of any friends: His body then they tooke away, And no man knew his dying day.