Classic Poem

Bot now the haisty, egir, and wild Dido,
Into hir cruell purpos enragit so,
The bludy ene rolling in hir heid,
Wan and full pale for feir of the neir deid,
With cheikis freklit, and all of tichwris bysprent,
Quaking throw dreid, ruschit furth, or sche wald stent,
Onto the innar wardis of hir place,
As wod woman clam on the bing, allace!
And furth scho drew the Troiane swerd, fute hait,
A wappin was nevir wrocht for sic a nate.
And sone as scho beheld Eneas clething,
And eke the bed bekend, a quhile weping,
Stude musing in hir mynd; and syne, but baid,
Fell in the bed, and thir last wordis said:
O sweit habit, and likand bed, quod sche,
Sa lang as God list suffir and destanye,
Ressave my blud, and this saull that on flocht is,
And me deliver from thir hevy thochtis.
Thus lang I leiffit have, and now is spent
The terme of lif that fortoun has me lent;
For now my gret gost ondir the erth man go.
A rycht fair cite haif I beild also,
Myne awin werk and wallis behald have I;
My spous wrokin of my brothir enemy,
Fra hym byreft his tressour, and quyt hym weill.
Happy allace! our happy, and full of seill
Had I bene, only geif that nevir nane
At our cost had arrivit schip Troiane.
And saying thus, hir mouth fast thristis sche
Doun in the bed: Onwrokin sall we de?
De ws behuffis, sche said, and quhou, behald!
And gan the scharp swerd to hir breist wphald;
3a, thus, thus likis ws to sterf and depart:
And, with that word, raif hir self to the hart.
Now lat 3one cruell Troiane swelly and see
This our fyre funerall from the deip see;
And of our deid turs with hym fra Cartage
This takin of mischeif in his vayage.
Quod sche: and, thairwith, gan hir servandis behald
Hir fallin and stekit on the irn cald;
The blud outbullerand on the nakit swerd,
Hir handis furthsprent.