Classic Poem

I cumm and will assaye
the speadye waye
To the that arte myne owne;
But with how dreadfull paine
because my stayne
I feare to the ys knowne.

Yett pardone me that parte
myne owne deare harte;
For the Celestiall name
Of hym that wann my truste:
unto his luste
Ought to excuse my blame.

His mothers heavenlye Race,
his Princelye grace,
His Syer on shoulders borne;
Dyd make me thinke at least
that such a guest
Woulde not have bene foresworne.

Yf Dido faultye bee
yett heare yow see
Some reasone of hir blame;
But if thow wilt be true
I neede not rue
Nor blushe a whytt for shame.

But as somme fortune yll
hath tracte me still
From my first daye of byrthe;
Even so the frowarde fates
my soule that hates
Wyll guyde me to the Earthe.

My spouse our gods in sighte
through murderous mighte
With his bloude staynde the grounde:
My brothers hande acurste
with bloodye thurste
Did gyve the gapinge wounde.

Leavynge that Soyle att once
whereas the bones
Of my mate was ingravde;
By presente speedy flyghte
from Brothers spighte
My syllye selfe I savde.

Pursude so was I toste
from coaste to coaste;
And heare this Lande and crowne,
Which I gave the for noughte,
I dearlye boughte,
And buylte this statelye Towne.

With walles I dyd it strengthe
off breadth and leangthe;
With flancks and ditches deepe:
Whose greatnes doth apale
our neighbours all
And them in homage keepe.

Than might I see huge Bandes
envade my landes,
Me haples wenche to chase:
On me they wagde fearce warre
newe come from farre
Scarce setled in this place.

Howe many Suyters brave
scornde I to have
Refusinge wedlocks state:
All which will now dysdaine
that I retayne
An unknowne wandringe mate.

Cruell thow shouldst enragde
have me engagde
Unto Hyarbas will:
Since I so many a daye
have bynne thy praye
Feade on my lyfe thy fill.

My Brother that so fayne
his blade would bayne
Within my Brest alas;
Might by the helpe off the
be vengde on mee
As on my spouse he was

Lay downe thy gods prophande
whom thow hast namde
With perjurde vowes in vayne;
And bee thow not beguilde,
for hands defylde
Such sacrede things disdaine.

Yff thow that savdst them soe
becumme their foe
And now blaspheame their name:
They scorne that so by the
they should be free
From wracke off Trojane flame.

Disloyall whether fleest?
when as thow seest
By the I greate am growne;
Since then within my vaynes
thy blood remaynes
Spill not that is thyne owne.

The hurtles Babe shall feele
the murderinge steele
By his deare mothers deathe:
So thow the quellar arte
off one poore harte
That never tasted breathe.

And Didos dismall daye
shall rydd awaye
Ascagnius lytle Brother:
His mortall paine and myne
mixt in one shrine
Shall passe on with the other.

Yff herehence thow arte prest
by Joves beheste
Woulde his will so hadd bene
That thow and thy proude traine
to worcke my paine
Our Shoares had never seene.

Tys Jove that guides the soe
both to and froe
Still hoveringe in the winde
Tys he that made the straye
so many a Daye
Err thow repose couldst finde

Yff statelye Troye yett stoode
with walles so good
And Pryams Sonne so stoute
To fynd agayne thy soyle
lesse weare the toyle
Then this thow goste aboute.

Aryve thow to thy mynde
thow shalt not finde
Thy pleasaunt Simois
But furious Tyber floode
whose raginge moode
To straungers fearefull is

Besides the tyme and scope
when thow dost hope
To see thy voyage done;
Will powder the with hoare
and age before
Thow hast thy Conquest woone.

Reteyne the Realme thow haste
and holde thow faste
This wealth and people brave:
Pursue no farder dryfts
theyse are the gyfts
That I the freely gave.

Take all Pigmalyons golde
in heapes untoulde
Transporte thy Troye to Tyre:
The Scepter of this lande
with luckye hande
Dyrect at thy desier.