She gan to wring her handis two. !,.
Alas, (quod he) that me is wo!
Alas! is every man thus true,
If it fo longè tyme endure,
Or ellis thre peravinture?
And thus of one he woll have fame
In magnifying his owne name,
An other for frendship faieth he,
And yet there fhall the thirde ybe,
That is ytakin for delite,
Lo! 'or els for finguler profite.
In foche wordis began complaine
This wofull Dido of her paine,
As me mette dremyng redily,
None other auctour aledge woll I,
Alas, (quod fhe) my fwetè herte!
Have pitie on my forowes (merte,
And fle me not; go not awaie.
O wofull Dido! welawaie!
(Quod fhe) unto her felvin tho.
O Æneas! what woll ye do?
O that your love, neithir your bonde,
Which that ye fwore with your right honde, l
Ne yet my my cruill deth, (quod fhe).
Maie holdin you ftill here with me!
O! have yc' of my deth no pite? Iwis, myne own dere herte! that ye
Knowin full well that nevir yet,
As farre as evir I had wit,
Agilte you in thought ne in dede.
O! have ye men foche godelihede
In fpeche, and ner a dele of trouthe?
O'er all this lande in every tong.
O wickid Fame! for there n'is
Nothing so swifte, lo! as she is;
O fothe is, Every thyng is rift
Though it be coverde with the mift:
Eke though that I might durin ever
That I have done recovre' I never,
That it ne fhall be faied, alas!
I fhamid was through Æneas,
And that I fhall thus judgid be.
Lo! right as fhe hath doen now the Woll doen eftfonis hardily,
Thus faie the peple privily;
But that is doen n'is not to done:'
But all her complaint ne her mone
Certain availed her not a fire.
And when the wift fothely that he
Was forthe into his fhip agone
She into chambir went anone,
But welawaie! the harme and routh
That hath betide for foche untrouth,
As men maie oft in bokis rede,
And al daie feen it yet in dede,
And whan fhe wift that he was falfe
She hong herself right by the halfe,
For he had doen her fuch untrouthe:
Lo! was not this a wo and routh?
: Eke loke how falfe and rechèles
Was to Brifeida Achilles,
And Paris eke to Oenone,
And Jafon to Hypfipyle,
And efte Jafon to Medea,
And Hercules to Deianira,
For he left her for lole,
That made hym take his deth parde.
How false was eke Duke Thefeus,v.
That as the ftorie tellith us
How he betrayid Adriane?
The devill be his foul'is bane!
For, had he laughid or iloured,
He must have ben anone devoured
And for fhe had of hym pite
She made hym fro the deth escape,
And he made her a full falfe jape;
For aftir this within a while
He left her flepyng in an ile,
Defert alone right in the fe,
And ftale awaie and let her be,
And toke her fuftir Phædra tho
With hym, and gan to shippe ygo;
And yet he had yfworne to here,
On all that evir he could fwere,
That fo fhe favid hym his life
He would takin her to his wife,
For fhe defirid nothinge elles
In certain, as the boke us telles.
But for to' excufe this Æneas
Fulliche of all his grete trefpas
The boke fayith withoutin faile
The goddes bad hym go to Itaile,
And levin Affriques regioun
And faire Dido and her faire toun.
Tho fawe I grave how to Itaile
Dan Æneas gan for to faile,
And how the tempeft all began,
And howe he loft his sterismán,
Whiche that the flerne or he toke kepe
Smote ovir the borde as he flepe.
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