Classic Poem

I am that Dido which thou here do'st see,
Cunningly framed in beauteous Imagrie.
Like this I was, but had not such a soule,
As Maro fained, incestuous and foule.
Æneas never with his Troian host
Beheld my face, or landed on this coast.
But flying proud Iarbas villanie,
Not mov'd by furious love or jealousie;
I did with weapon chast, to save my fame,
Make way for death untimely, ere it came.
This was my end; but first I built a Towne,
Reveng'd my husbands death, liv'd with renowne.
Why did'st thou stirre up Virgil, envious Muse,
Falsely my name and honour to abuse?
Readers, beleeve Historians; not those
Which to the world Joves thefts and vice expose.
Poets are liers, and for verses sake
Will make the Gods of humane crimes partake.