XXIII.

Queen Dido.

Such is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. to this excellent old ballad, which, in the common printed copies, is inscribed, Eneas, Wandering Prince of Troy. It is here given from that MS. collated with two different printed copies, both in black-letter, in the Pepys Collection.

The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting simplicity our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion on the classic story 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 hand than that celebrated poet.

WHEN Troy towne had, for ten yeeres 'past,'
Withstood the Greekes in manfull wise,

Then did their foes encrease soe fast,

That to resist none could suffice:

Wast lye those walls, that were soe good,

And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode..

Eneas, wandering prince of Troy,

5

When he for land long time had sought,

To mighty Carthage walls was brought;

10

At length arriving with great joy,

Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast,
Did entertaine that wandering guest.

And, as in hall at meate they sate,

The queene, desirous newes to heare, "Says, "Of thy Troys unhappy fate,'

Declare to me, thou Trojan deare:

That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had."

The heavy hap and chance soe bad,

And then anon this comelye knight,

With words demure, as he cold well,

Of his unhappy ten yeares 'fight,'
Soe true a tale began to tell,

15

20

With words soe sweete, and sighes soe deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.

VOL. II.

Ver. 1, 21, war. MS. and P.C.

R

Said, "Worthy prince, enough, no more.”

30

And then the darksome night drew on,

And twinkling starres the skye bespred,
When he his dolefull tale had done,
And every one was layd in bedd:

Where they full sweetly tooke their rest,
Save only Dido's boyling brest.

35

This silly woman never slept,

But in her chamber, all alone, As one unhappye, alwayes wept,

And to the walls shee made her mone;

40

That she shold still desire in vaine
The thing, she never must obtaine.

And thus in grieffe she spent the night,

Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,
And Phoebus, with his glistering light,
Through misty cloudes appeared red;
Then tidings came to her anon,
That all the Trojan shipps were gone.

45

And then the queene with bloody knife

50

Did arme, her hart as hard as stone; Yet, something loth to loose her life,

In woefull wise she made her mone;

And, rowling on her carefull bed,

With sighes and sobbs, these words shee sayd:

"O wretched Dido queene!" quoth shee,

55

"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.

60

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 she peerced her hart.

65

"False-harted wretch," quoth shee, "thou art; And traiterouslye thou hast betraid

85

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."

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95

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
Queen 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.

100

105

V. 120, MS. Hath made my breath my life forsooke.

125

130

From Ben Jonson's Masque of Queens, presented at Whitehall, Feb. 2, 1609.

The Editor thought it incumbent on him to insert some old pieces on the popular superstition concerning witches, hobgoblins, fairies, and ghosts. The last of these make their appearance in most of the tragical ballads; and in the following songs will be found some description of the former.

It is true, this Song of the Witches, falling from the learned pen of Ben Jonson, is rather an extract from the various incantations of classical antiquity, than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar. But let it be observed, that a parcel of learned wiseacres had just before busied themselves on this subject, in compliment to King James I., whose weakness on this head is well known: and these had so ransacked all writers, ancient and modern, and so blended and kneaded together the several superstitions of different times and nations, that those of genuine English growth could no longer be traced out and distinguished.

By good luck, the whimsical belief of fairies and goblins could furnish no pretences for torturing our fellow-creatures, and therefore we have this handed down to us pure and unsophisticated.

1 WITCH.

"I HAVE been, all day, looking after

A raven, feeding upon a quarter;

And, soone as she turn'd her beak to the south,

I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth."

2 WITCH.

"I have beene gathering wolves haires,
The madd dogges foames, and adders eares;

5

The spurging of a deadmans eyes:

And all since the evening starre did rise."