580

After the deeth of Tholomee the king,

That al Egipte hadde in his governing,

Regned his quene Cleopataras;

Til on a tyme befel ther swiche a cas,

That out of Rome was sent a senatour,

For to conqueren regnes and honour

Unto the toun of Rome, as was usaunce,

To have the world unto her obeisaunce;

And, sooth to seye, Antonius was his name.

So fil hit, as Fortune him oghte a shame

Whan he was fallen in prosperitee,

Rebel unto the toun of Rome is he.

And over al this, the suster of Cesar,

He lafte hir falsly, er that she was war,

And wolde algates han another wyf;

For whiche he took with Rome and Cesar stryf.

Natheles, for-sooth, this ilke senatour

Was a ful worthy gentil werreyour,

And of his deeth hit was ful greet damage.

But love had broght this man in swiche a rage,

And him so narwe bounden in his las,

Al for the love of Cleopataras,

That al the world he sette at no value.

Him thoughte, nas to him no thing so due

As Cleopatras for to love and serve;

Him roghte nat in armes for to sterve

In the defence of hir, and of hir right.

This noble quene eek lovede so this knight,

Through his desert, and for his chivalrye;

As certeinly, but-if that bokes lye,

He was, of persone and of gentilesse,

And of discrecioun and hardinesse,

Worthy to any wight that liven may.

And she was fair as is the rose in May.

And, for to maken shortly is the beste,

She wex his wyf, and hadde him as hir leste.

The wedding and the feste to devyse,

To me, that have y-take swiche empryse

Of so many a storie for to make,

Hit were to long, lest that I sholde slake

Of thing that bereth more effect and charge;

For men may overlade a ship or barge;

And forthy to theffect than wol I skippe,

And al the remenant, I wol lete hit slippe.

Octovian, that wood was of this dede,

Shoop him an ost on Antony to lede

Al-outerly for his destruccioun,

With stoute Romains, cruel as leoun;

To ship they wente, and thus I let hem saile.

Antonius was war, and wol nat faile

To meten with thise Romains, if he may;

Took eek his reed, and bothe, upon a day,

His wyf and he, and al his ost, forth wente

To shippe anoon, no lenger they ne stente;

And in the see hit happed hem to mete—

Up goth the trompe—and for to shoute and shete,

And peynen hem to sette on with the sonne.

With grisly soun out goth the grete gonne,

And heterly they hurtlen al at ones,

And fro the top doun cometh the grete stones.

In goth the grapenel so ful of crokes

Among the ropes, and the shering-hokes.

In with the polax presseth he and he;

Behind the mast beginneth he to flee,

And out agayn, and dryveth him over-borde;

He stingeth him upon his speres orde;

He rent the sail with hokes lyke a sythe;

He bringeth the cuppe, and biddeth hem be blythe;

He poureth pesen upon the hacches slider;

With pottes ful of lym they goon to-gider;

And thus the longe day in fight they spende

Til, at the laste, as every thing hath ende,

Antony is shent, and put him to the flighte,

And al his folk to-go, that best go mighte.

Fleeth eek the queen, with al her purpre sail,

For strokes, which that wente as thikke as hail;

No wonder was, she mighte hit nat endure.

And whan that Antony saw that aventure,

'Allas!' quod he, 'the day that I was born!

My worshipe in this day thus have I lorn!'

And for dispeyr out of his witte he sterte,

And roof him-self anoon through-out the herte

Er that he ferther wente out of the place.

His wyf, that coude of Cesar have no grace,

To Egipte is fled, for drede and for distresse;

But herkneth, ye that speke of kindenesse.

Ye men, that falsly sweren many an ooth

That ye wol dye, if that your love be wrooth,

Heer may ye seen of women whiche a trouthe!

This woful Cleopatre hath mad swich routhe

That ther nis tonge noon that may hit telle.

But on the morwe she wol no lenger dwelle,

But made hir subtil werkmen make a shryne

Of alle the rubies and the stones fyne

In al Egipte that she coude espye;

And putte ful the shryne of spycerye,

And leet the cors embaume; and forth she fette

This dede cors, and in the shryne hit shette.

And next the shryne a pit than doth she grave;

And alle the serpents that she mighte have,

She putte hem in that grave, and thus she seyde:

'Now love, to whom my sorweful herte obeyde

So ferforthly that, fro that blisful houre

That I yow swor to been al frely youre,

I mene yow, Antonius my knight!

That never waking, in the day or night,

Ye nere out of myn hertes remembraunce

For wele or wo, for carole or for daunce;

And in my-self this covenant made I tho,

That, right swich as ye felten, wele or wo,

As ferforth as hit in my power lay,

Unreprovable unto my wyfhood ay,

The same wolde I felen, lyf or deeth.

And thilke covenant, whyl me lasteth breeth,

I wol fulfille, and that shal wel be sene;

Was never unto hir love a trewer quene.'

And with that word, naked, with ful good herte,

Among the serpents in the pit she sterte,

And ther she chees to han hir buryinge.

Anoon the neddres gonne hir for to stinge,

And she hir deeth receyveth, with good chere,

For love of Antony, that was hir so dere:—

And this is storial sooth, hit is no fable.

Now, er I finde a man thus trewe and stable,

And wol for love his deeth so freely take,

I pray god lat our hedes never ake!

At Babiloine whylom fil it thus,

The whiche toun the queen Semiramus

Leet dichen al about, and walles make

Ful hye, of harde tyles wel y-bake.

710

Ther weren dwellinge in this noble toun

Two lordes, which that were of greet renoun,

And woneden so nigh, upon a grene,

That ther nas but a stoon-wal hem bitwene,

As ofte in grete tounes is the wone.

715

And sooth to seyn, that o man hadde a sone,

(11)

Of al that londe oon of the lustieste.

That other hadde a doghter, the faireste,

That estward in the world was tho dwellinge.

The name of everich gan to other springe

By wommen, that were neighebores aboute.

For in that contree yit, withouten doute,

Maidens been y-kept, for Ielosye,

Ful streite, lest they diden som folye.

This yonge man was cleped Piramus,

And Tisbe hight the maid, Naso seith thus;

And thus by report was hir name y-shove

That, as they wexe in age, wex hir love;

And certein, as by reson of hir age,

Ther mighte have been bitwix hem mariage,

But that hir fadres nolde hit nat assente;

And bothe in love y-lyke sore they brente,

That noon of alle hir frendes mighte hit lette

But prively somtyme yit they mette

By sleighte, and speken som of hir desyr;

As, wry the gleed, and hotter is the fyr;

Forbede a love, and it is ten so wood.

This wal, which that bitwix hem bothe stood,

Was cloven a-two, right fro the toppe adoun,

Of olde tyme of his fundacioun;

But yit this clifte was so narwe and lyte,

It as nat sene, dere y-nogh a myte.

But what is that, that love can nat espye?

Ye lovers two, if that I shal nat lye,

Ye founden first this litel narwe clifte;

And, with a soun as softe as any shrifte,

They lete hir wordes through the clifte pace,

And tolden, whyl that they stode in the place,

Al hir compleynt of love, and al hir wo,

At every tyme whan they dorste so.

Upon that o syde of the wal stood he,

And on that other syde stood Tisbe,

The swote soun of other to receyve,

And thus hir wardeins wolde they deceyve.

And every day this wal they wolde threte,

And wisshe to god, that it were doun y-bete.

Thus wolde they seyn—'allas! thou wikked wal,

Through thyn envye thou us lettest al!

Why nilt thou cleve, or fallen al a-two?

Or, at the leste, but thou woldest so,

Yit woldestow but ones lete us mete,

Or ones that we mighte kissen swete,

Than were we covered of our cares colde.

But natheles, yit be we to thee holde

In as muche as thou suffrest for to goon

Our wordes through thy lyme and eek thy stoon.

Yit oghte we with thee ben wel apayd.'

And whan thise ydel wordes weren sayd,

The colde wal they wolden kisse of stoon,

And take hir leve, and forth they wolden goon.

And this was gladly in the even-tyde

Or wonder erly, lest men hit espyde;

And longe tyme they wroghte in this manere

Til on a day, whan Phebus gan to clere,

Aurora with the stremes of hir hete

Had dryed up the dew of herbes wete;

Unto this clifte, as it was wont to be,

Com Pyramus, and after com Tisbe,

And plighten trouthe fully in hir fey

That ilke same night to stele awey,

And to begyle hir wardeins everichoon,

And forth out of the citee for to goon;

And, for the feldes been so brode and wyde,

For to mete in o place at o tyde,

They sette mark hir meting sholde be

Ther king Ninus was graven, under a tree;

For olde payens that ydoles heried

Useden tho in feldes to ben beried

And faste by this grave was a welle.

And, shortly of this tale for to telle,

This covenant was affermed wonder faste;

And longe hem thoughte that the sonne laste,

That hit nere goon under the see adoun.

This Tisbe hath so greet affeccioun

And so greet lyking Piramus to see,

That, whan she seigh her tyme mighte be,

At night she stal awey ful prively

With her face y-wimpled subtilly;

For alle her frendes—for to save her trouthe—

She hath for-sake; allas! and that is routhe

That ever woman wolde be so trewe

To trusten man, but she the bet him knewe!

And to the tree she goth a ful good pas,

For love made her so hardy in this cas;

And by the welle adoun she gan her dresse.

Allas! than comth a wilde leonesse

Out of the wode, withouten more areste,

With blody mouthe, of strangling of a beste,

To drinken of the welle, ther as she sat;

And, whan that Tisbe had espyed that,

She rist her up, with a ful drery herte,

And in a cave with dredful foot she sterte,

For by the mone she seigh hit wel with-alle.

And, as she ran, her wimpel leet she falle,

And took noon heed, so sore she was a-whaped.

And eek so glad of that she was escaped;

And thus she sit, and darketh wonder stille.

Whan that this leonesse hath dronke her fille,

Aboute the welle gan she for to winde,

And right anoon the wimpel gan she finde,

And with her blody mouth hit al to-rente.

Whan this was doon, no lenger she ne stente,

But to the wode her wey than hath she nome.

And, at the laste, this Piramus is come,

But al to longe, allas! at hoom was he.

The mone shoon, men mighte wel y-see,

And in his weye, as that he com ful faste,

His eyen to the grounde adoun he caste,

And in the sonde, as he beheld adoun,

He seigh the steppes brode of a leoun,

And in his herte he sodeinly agroos,

And pale he wex, therwith his heer aroos,

And neer he com, and fond the wimpel torn.

'Allas!' quod he, 'the day that I was born!

This o night wol us lovers bothe slee!

How sholde I axen mercy of Tisbe

Whan I am he that have yow slain, allas!

My bidding hath yow slain, as in this cas.

Allas! to bidde a woman goon by nighte

In place ther as peril fallen mighte,

And I so slow! allas, I ne hadde be

Here in this place a furlong-wey or ye!

Now what leoun that be in this foreste,

My body mote he renden, or what beste

That wilde is, gnawen mote he now myn herte!'

And with that worde he to the wimpel sterte,

And kiste hit ofte, and weep on hit ful sore,

And seide, 'wimpel, allas! ther nis no more

But thou shalt fele as wel the blood of me

As thou hast felt the bleding of Tisbe!'

And with that worde he smoot him to the herte.

The blood out of the wounde as brode sterte

As water, whan the conduit broken is.

Now Tisbe, which that wiste nat of this,

But sitting in her drede, she thoghte thus,

'If hit so falle that my Piramus

Be comen hider, and may me nat y-finde,

He may me holden fals and eek unkinde.'

And out she comth, and after him gan espyen

Bothe with her herte and with her yën,

And thoghte, 'I wol him tellen of my drede

Bothe of the leonesse and al my dede.'

And at the laste her love than hath she founde

Beting with his heles on the grounde,

Al blody, and therwith-al a-bak she sterte,

And lyke the wawes quappe gan her herte,

And pale as box she wex, and in a throwe

Avysed her, and gan him wel to knowe,

That hit was Piramus, her herte dere.

Who coude wryte whiche a deedly chere

Hath Tisbe now, and how her heer she rente,

And how she gan her-selve to turmente,

And how she lyth and swowneth on the grounde,

And how she weep of teres ful his wounde,

How medeleth she his blood with her compleynte,

And with his blood her-selven gan she peynte;

How clippeth she the dede cors, allas?

How doth this woful Tisbe in this cas!

How kisseth she his frosty mouth so cold!

'Who hath doon this, and who hath been so bold

To sleen my leef? O spek, my Piramus!

I am thy Tisbe, that thee calleth thus!'

And therwith-al she lifteth up his heed.

This woful man, that was nat fully deed,

Whan that he herde the name of Tisbe cryen,

On her he caste his hevy deedly yën

And doun again, and yeldeth up the gost.

Tisbe rist up, withouten noise or bost,

And seigh her wimpel and his empty shethe,

And eek his swerd, that him hath doon to dethe;

Than spak she thus: 'My woful hand,' quod she,

'Is strong y-nogh in swiche a werk to me;

For love shal yive me strengthe and hardinesse

To make my wounde large y-nogh, I gesse.

I wol thee folwen deed, and I wol be

Felawe and cause eek of thy deeth,' quod she.

'And thogh that nothing save the deeth only

Mighte thee fro me departe trewely,

Thou shalt no more departe now fro me

Than fro the deeth, for I wol go with thee!

'And now, ye wrecched Ielous fadres oure,

We, that weren whylom children youre,

We prayen yow, withouten more envye,

That in o grave y-fere we moten lye,

Sin love hath brought us to this pitous ende!

And rightwis god to every lover sende,

That loveth trewely, more prosperitee

Than ever hadde Piramus and Tisbe!

And lat no gentil woman her assure

To putten her in swiche an aventure.

But god forbede but a woman can

Been as trewe and loving as a man!

And, for my part, I shal anoon it kythe!'

And, with that worde, his swerd she took as swythe,

That warm was of her loves blood and hoot,

And to the herte she her-selven smoot.

And thus ar Tisbe and Piramus ago.

Of trewe men I finde but fewe mo

In alle my bokes, save this Piramus,

And therfor have I spoken of him thus.

For hit is deyntee to us men to finde

A man that can in love be trewe and kinde.

Heer may ye seen, what lover so he be,

A woman dar and can as wel as he.

Glory and honour, Virgil Mantuan,

Be to thy name! and I shal, as I can,

Folow thy lantern, as thou gost biforn,

How Eneas to Dido was forsworn.

In thyn Eneïd and Naso wol I take

The tenour, and the grete effectes make.

Whan Troye broght was to destruccioun

By Grekes sleighte, and namely by Sinoun,

Feyning the hors y-offred to Minerve,

Through which that many a Troyan moste sterve;

And Ector had, after his deeth, appered,

And fyr so wood, it mighte nat be stered,

In al the noble tour of Ilioun,

That of the citee was the cheef dungeoun;

And al the contree was so lowe y-broght,

And Priamus the king fordoon and noght;

And Eneas was charged by Venus

To fleen awey, he took Ascanius,

That was his sone, in his right hand, and fledde;

And on his bakke he bar and with him ledde

His olde fader, cleped Anchises,

And by the weye his wyf Creusa he lees.

And mochel sorwe hadde he in his minde

Er that he coude his felawshippe finde.

But, at the laste, whan he had hem founde,

He made him redy in a certein stounde,

And to the see ful faste he gan him hye,

And saileth forth with al his companye

Toward Itaile, as wolde destinee.

But of his aventures in the see

Nis nat to purpos for to speke of here,

For hit acordeth nat to my matere.

But, as I seide, of him and of Dido

Shal be my tale, til that I have do.

So longe he sailed in the salte see

Til in Libye unnethe aryved he,

With shippes seven and with no more navye;

And glad was he to londe for to hye,

So was he with the tempest al to-shake.

And whan that he the haven had y-take,

He had a knight, was called Achates;

And him of al his felawshippe he chees

To goon with him, the contre for tespye;

He took with him no more companye.

But forth they goon, and lafte his shippes ryde,

His fere and he, with-outen any gyde.

So longe he walketh in this wildernesse

Til, at the laste, he mette an hunteresse.

A bowe in honde and arwes hadde she,

Her clothes cutted were unto the knee;

But she was yit the fairest creature

That ever was y-formed by nature;

And Eneas and Achates she grette,

And thus she to hem spak, whan she hem mette.

'Sawe ye,' quod she, 'as ye han walked wyde,

Any of my sustren walke yow besyde,

With any wilde boor or other beste

That they han hunted to, in this foreste,

Y-tukked up, with arwes in her cas?'

'Nay, soothly, lady,' quod this Eneas;

'But, by thy beaute, as hit thinketh me,

Thou mightest never erthely womman be,

But Phebus suster artow, as I gesse.

And, if so be that thou be a goddesse,

Have mercy on our labour and our wo.'

'I nam no goddes, soothly,' quod she tho;

'For maidens walken in this contree here,

With arwes and with bowe, in this manere.

This is the regne of Libie, ther ye been,

Of which that Dido lady is and queen'—

And shortly tolde him al the occasioun

Why Dido com into that regioun,

Of which as now me lusteth nat to ryme;

Hit nedeth nat; hit nere but los of tyme.

For this is al and som, it was Venus,

His owne moder, that spak with him thus;

And to Cartage she bad he sholde him dighte,

And vanished anoon out of his sighte.

I coude folwe, word for word, Virgyle,

But it wolde lasten al to longe a whyle.

This noble queen, that cleped was Dido,

That whylom was the wyf of Sitheo,

That fairer was then is the brighte sonne,

This noble toun of Cartage hath begonne;

In which she regneth in so greet honour,

That she was holde of alle quenes flour,

Of gentilesse, of freedom, of beautee;

That wel was him that mighte her ones see;

Of kinges and of lordes so desyred,

That al the world her beaute hadde y-fyred;

She stood so wel in every wightes grace.

Whan Eneas was come un-to that place,

Unto the maister-temple of al the toun

Ther Dido was in her devocioun,

Ful prively his wey than hath he nome.

Whan he was in the large temple come,

I can nat seyn if that hit be possible,

But Venus hadde him maked invisible—

Thus seith the book, with-outen any lees.

And whan this Eneas and Achates

Hadden in this temple been over-al,

Than founde they, depeynted on a wal,

How Troye and al the lond destroyed was.

'Allas! that I was born,' quod Eneas,

'Through-out the world our shame is kid so wyde,

Now it is peynted upon every syde!

We, that weren in prosperitee,

Be now disslaundred, and in swich degre,

No lenger for to liven I ne kepe!'

And, with that worde, he brast out for to wepe

So tendrely, that routhe hit was to sene.

This fresshe lady, of the citee quene,

Stood in the temple, in her estat royal,

So richely, and eek so fair with-al,

So yong, so lusty, with her eyen glade,

That, if that god, that heven and erthe made,

Wolde han a love, for beaute and goodnesse,

And womanhod, and trouthe, and seemlinesse,

Whom sholde he loven but this lady swete?

There nis no womman to him half so mete.

Fortune, that hath the world in governaunce,

Hath sodeinly broght in so newe a chaunce,

That never was ther yit so fremd a cas.

For al the companye of Eneas,

Which that he wende han loren in the see,

Aryved is, nat fer fro that citee;

For which, the grettest of his lordes some

By aventure ben to the citee come,

Unto that same temple, for to seke

The quene, and of her socour her beseke;

Swich renoun was ther spronge of her goodnesse.

And, whan they hadden told al hir distresse,

And al hir tempest and hir harde cas,

Unto the quene appered Eneas,

And openly beknew that hit was he.

Who hadde Ioye than but his meynee,

That hadden founde hir lord, hir governour?

The quene saw they dide him swich honour,

And had herd ofte of Eneas, er tho,

And in her herte she hadde routhe and wo

That ever swich a noble man as he

Shal been disherited in swich degree;

And saw the man, that he was lyk a knight,

And suffisaunt of persone and of might,

And lyk to been a veray gentil man;

And wel his wordes he besette can,

And had a noble visage for the nones,

And formed wel of braunes and of bones.

For, after Venus, hadde he swich fairnesse,

That no man might be half so fair, I gesse.

And wel a lord he semed for to be.

And, for he was a straunger, somwhat she

Lyked him the bet, as, god do bote,

To som folk ofte newe thing is swote.

Anoon her herte hath pitee of his wo,

And, with that pitee, love com in also;

And thus, for pitee and for gentilesse,

Refresshed moste he been of his distresse.

She seide, certes, that she sory was

That he hath had swich peril and swich cas;

And, in her frendly speche, in this manere

She to him spak, and seide as ye may here.

'Be ye nat Venus sone and Anchises?

In good feith, al the worship and encrees

That I may goodly doon yow, ye shul have.

Your shippes and your meynee shal I save;'

And many a gentil word she spak him to;

And comaunded her messageres go

The same day, with-outen any faile,

His shippes for to seke, and hem vitaile.

She many a beste to the shippes sente,

And with the wyn she gan hem to presente;

And to her royal paleys she her spedde,

And Eneas alwey with her she ledde.

What nedeth yow the feste to descryve?

He never beter at ese was his lyve.

Ful was the feste of deyntees and richesse,

Of instruments, of song, and of gladnesse,

And many an amorous loking and devys.

This Eneas is come to Paradys

Out of the swolow of helle, and thus in Ioye

Remembreth him of his estat in Troye.

To dauncing-chambres ful of parements,

Of riche beddes, and of ornaments,

This Eneas is lad, after the mete.

And with the quene whan that he had sete,

And spyces parted, and the wyn agoon,

Unto his chambres was he lad anoon

To take his ese and for to have his reste,

With al his folk, to doon what so hem leste.

Ther nas coursere wel y-brydled noon,

Ne stede, for the Iusting wel to goon,

Ne large palfrey, esy for the nones,

Ne Iuwel, fretted ful of riche stones,

Ne sakkes ful of gold, of large wighte,

Ne ruby noon, that shynede by nighte,

Ne gentil hautein faucon heronere,

Ne hound, for hert or wilde boor or dere,

Ne coupe of gold, with florins newe y-bete,

That in the lond of Libie may be gete,

That Dido ne hath hit Eneas y-sent;

And al is payed, what that he hath spent.

Thus can this [noble] quene her gestes calle,

As she that can in freedom passen alle.

Eneas sothly eek, with-outen lees,

Hath sent un-to his shippe, by Achates,

After his sone, and after riche thinges,

Both ceptre, clothes, broches, and eek ringes,

Som for to were, and som for to presente

To her, that all thise noble thinges him sente;

And bad his sone, how that he sholde make

The presenting, and to the quene hit take.

Repaired is this Achates again,

And Eneas ful blisful is and fain

To seen his yonge sone Ascanius.

But natheles, our autour telleth us,

That Cupido, that is the god of love,

At preyere of his moder, hye above,

Hadde the lyknes of the child y-take,

This noble quene enamoured to make

On Eneas; but, as of that scripture,

Be as be may, I make of hit no cure.

But sooth is this, the quene hath mad swich chere

Un-to this child, that wonder is to here;

And of the present that his fader sente

She thanked him ful ofte, in good entente.

Thus is this quene in plesaunce and in Ioye,

With al this newe lusty folk of Troye.

And of the dedes hath she more enquered

Of Eneas, and al the story lered

Of Troye; and al the longe day they tweye

Entendeden to speken and to pleye;

Of which ther gan to breden swich a fyr,

That sely Dido hath now swich desyr

With Eneas, her newe gest, to dele,

That she hath lost her hewe, and eek her hele.

Now to theffect, now to the fruit of al,

Why I have told this story, and tellen shal.

Thus I beginne; hit fil, upon a night,

When that the mone up-reysed had her light,

This noble quene un-to her reste wente;

She syketh sore, and gan her-self turmente.

She waketh, walweth, maketh many a brayd,

As doon thise loveres, as I have herd sayd.

And at the laste, unto her suster Anne

She made her moon, and right thus spak she thanne.

'Now, dere suster myn, what may hit be

That me agasteth in my dreme?' quod she.

'This ilke Troyan is so in my thoght,

For that me thinketh he is so wel y-wroght,

And eek so lykly for to be a man,

And therwithal so mikel good he can,

That al my love and lyf lyth in his cure.

Have ye not herd him telle his aventure?

Now certes, Anne, if that ye rede hit me,

I wolde fain to him y-wedded be;

This is theffect; what sholde I more seye?

In him lyth al, to do me live or deye.'

Her suster Anne, as she that coude her good,

Seide as her thoughte, and somdel hit with-stood.

But her-of was so long a sermoning,

Hit were to long to make rehersing;

But fynally, hit may not been with-stonde;

Love wol love—for no wight wol hit wonde.

The dawening up-rist out of the see;

This amorous quene chargeth her meynee

The nettes dresse, and speres brode and kene;

An hunting wol this lusty fresshe quene;

So priketh her this newe Ioly wo.

To hors is al her lusty folk y-go;

Un-to the court the houndes been y-broght,

And up-on coursers, swift as any thoght,

Her yonge knightes hoven al aboute,

And of her wommen eek an huge route.

Up-on a thikke palfrey, paper-whyt,

With sadel rede, enbrouded with delyt,

Of gold the barres up-enbossed hye,

Sit Dido, al in gold and perre wrye;

And she is fair, as is the brighte morwe,

That heleth seke folk of nightes sorwe.

Up-on a courser, startling as the fyr,

Men mighte turne him with a litel wyr,

Sit Eneas, lyk Phebus to devyse;

So was he fresshe arayed in his wyse.

The fomy brydel with the bit of gold

Governeth he, right as him-self hath wold.

And forth this noble quene thus lat I ryde

An hunting, with this Troyan by her syde.

The herd of hertes founden is anoon,

With 'hey! go bet! prik thou! lat goon, lat goon!

Why nil the leoun comen or the bere,

That I mighte ones mete him with this spere?'

Thus seyn thise yonge folk, and up they kille

These hertes wilde, and han hem at hir wille.

Among al this to-romblen gan the heven,

The thunder rored with a grisly steven;

Doun com the rain, with hail and sleet so faste,

With hevenes fyr, that hit so sore agaste

This noble quene, and also her meynee,

That ech of hem was glad a-wey to flee.

And shortly, fro the tempest her to save,

She fledde her-self into a litel cave,

And with her wente this Eneas al-so;

I noot, with hem if ther wente any mo;

The autour maketh of hit no mencioun.

And heer began the depe affeccioun

Betwix hem two; this was the firste morwe

Of her gladnesse, and ginning of her sorwe.

For ther hath Eneas y-kneled so,

And told her al his herte, and al his wo,

And sworn so depe, to her to be trewe,

For wele or wo, and chaunge for no newe,

And as a fals lover so wel can pleyne,

That sely Dido rewed on his peyne,

And took him for husband, [to been] his wyf

For ever-mo, whyl that hem laste lyf.

And after this, whan that the tempest stente,

With mirth out as they comen, hoom they wente.

The wikked fame up roos, and that anon,

How Eneas hath with the quene y-gon

In-to the cave; and demed as hem liste;

And whan the king, that Yarbas hight, hit wiste,

As he that had her loved ever his lyf,

And wowed her, to have her to his wyf,

Swich sorwe as he hath maked, and swich chere,

Hit is a routhe and pitee for to here.

But, as in love, al-day hit happeth so,

That oon shal laughen at anothers wo;

Now laugheth Eneas, and is in Ioye

And more richesse than ever he was in Troye.

O sely womman, ful of innocence,

Ful of pitee, of trouthe, and conscience,

What maked yow to men to trusten so?

Have ye swich routhe upon hir feined wo,

And han swich olde ensamples yow beforn?

See ye nat alle, how they been for-sworn?

Wher see ye oon, that he ne hath laft his leef,

Or been unkinde, or doon her som mischeef,

Or pilled her, or bosted of his dede?

Ye may as wel hit seen, as ye may rede;

Tak heed now of this grete gentil-man,

This Troyan, that so wel her plesen can,

That feineth him so trewe and obeising,

So gentil and so privy of his doing,

And can so wel doon alle his obeisaunces,

And waiten her at festes and at daunces,

And when she goth to temple and hoom ageyn,

And fasten til he hath his lady seyn,

And bere in his devyses, for her sake,

Noot I nat what; and songes wolde he make,

Iusten, and doon of armes many thinges,

Sende her lettres, tokens, broches, ringes—

Now herkneth, how he shal his lady serve!

Ther-as he was in peril for to sterve

For hunger, and for mischeef in the see,

And desolat, and fled from his contree,

And al his folk with tempest al to-driven,

She hath her body and eek her reame yiven

In-to his hond, ther-as she mighte have been

Of other lond than of Cartage a queen,

And lived in Ioye y-nogh; what wolde ye more?

This Eneas, that hath so depe y-swore,

Is wery of his craft with-in a throwe;

The hote ernest is al over-blowe.

And prively he doth his shippes dighte,

And shapeth him to stele a-wey by nighte.

This Dido hath suspecioun of this,

And thoughte wel, that hit was al a-mis;

For in his bedde he lyth a-night and syketh;

She asketh him anoon, what him mislyketh—

'My dere herte, which that I love most?'

'Certes,' quod he, 'this night my fadres gost

Hath in my sleep so sore me tormented,

And eek Mercurie his message hath presented,

That nedes to the conquest of Itaile

My destinee is sone for to saile;

For which, me thinketh, brosten is myn herte!'

Ther-with his false teres out they sterte;

And taketh her with-in his armes two.

'Is that in ernest,' quod she; 'wil ye so?

Have ye nat sworn to wyve me to take,

Alas! what womman wil ye of me make?

I am a gentil-woman and a queen,

Ye wil nat fro your wyf thus foule fleen?

That I was born! allas! what shal I do?'

To telle in short, this noble queen Dido,

She seketh halwes, and doth sacrifyse;

She kneleth, cryeth, that routhe is to devyse;

Coniureth him, and profreth him to be

His thral, his servant in the leste gree;

She falleth him to fote, and swowneth there

Dischevele, with her brighte gilte here,

And seith, 'have mercy! let me with yow ryde!

Thise lordes, which that wonen me besyde

Wil me destroyen only for your sake.

And, so ye wil me now to wyve take,

As ye han sworn, than wol I yive yow leve

To sleen me with your swerd now sone at eve!

For than yit shal I dyen as your wyf.

I am with childe, and yive my child his lyf.

Mercy, lord! have pite in your thoght!'

But al this thing availeth her right noght;

For on a night, slepinge, he let her lye,

And stal a-wey un-to his companye,

And, as a traitour, forth he gan to saile

Toward the large contree of Itaile.

Thus hath he laft Dido in wo and pyne;

And wedded ther a lady hight Lavyne.

A cloth he lafte, and eek his swerd stonding,

Whan he fro Dido stal in her sleping,

Right at her beddes heed, so gan he hye

Whan that he stal a-wey to his navye;

Which cloth, whan sely Dido gan awake,

She hath hit kist ful ofte for his sake;

And seide, 'O cloth, whyl Iupiter hit leste,

Tak now my soule, unbind me of this unreste!

I have fulfild of fortune al the cours.'

And thus, allas! with-outen his socours,

Twenty tyme y-swowned hath she thanne.

And, whan that she un-to her suster Anne

Compleyned had, of which I may nat wryte—

So greet a routhe I have hit for tendyte—

And bad her norice and her suster goon

To fecchen fyr and other thing anoon,

And seide, that she wolde sacrifye.

And, whan she mighte her tyme wel espye,

Up-on the fyr of sacrifys she sterte,

And with his swerd she roof her to the herte.

But, as myn autour seith, right thus she seyde;

Or she was hurt, before that she deyde,

She wroot a lettre anoon, that thus began:—

'Right so,' quod she, 'as that the whyte swan

Ayeins his deeth beginneth for to singe,

Right so to yow make I my compleyninge.

Nat that I trowe to geten yow again,

For wel I woot that it is al in vain,

Sin that the goddes been contraire to me.

But sin my name is lost through yow,' quod she,

'I may wel lese a word on yow, or letter,

Al-be-it that I shal be never the better;

For thilke wind that blew your ship a-wey,

The same wind hath blowe a-wey your fey.'—

But who wol al this letter have in minde,

Rede Ovide, and in him he shal hit finde.