And aftir this was grave, allas,
How Ilyoun assayled was
And wonne, and kynge Priam yslayne,
And Polite his sone, certayne,
Dispitously of daun Pirrus.
And next that sawgh I how Venus
Whan that she sawgh the castel brende,
Doune fro the hevene gan descende,
And bad hir sone Eneas flee;
And how he fled, and how that he
Escaped was from al the pres,
And tooke his fader, Anchises,
And bare hym on hys bakke away,
Cryinge Allas and welaway!'
The whiche Anchises in hys honde
Bare the goddesse of the londe,
Thilke that unbrende were.
And I saugh next in al hys fere,
How Creusa, daun Eneas wife,
Which that he lovede as hys lyfe,
And hir yonge sone Iulo,
And eke Askanius also,
Fledden eke with drery chere,
That hyt was pitee for to here;
And in a forest as they wente,
At a turnynge of a wente,
How Creusa was yloste, allas!
That dede, not I how she was;
How he hir soughte, and how hir goste
Bad hym to flee the Grekes oste,
And seyde he most unto Itayle,
As was hys destanye, sauns faille,
That hyt was pitee for to here,
When hir spirite gan appere
The wordes that she to hym seyde,
And for to kepe hir sone hym preyde.
Ther sawgh I grave eke how he,
Hys fader eke, and his meynee,
With hys shippes gan to sayle
Towardes the contree of Itaylle,
And streight as that they myghte goo.
Ther saugh I the, crewel Juno,
That art daun Jupiteres wife,
That hast yhated, al thy lyfe,
Alle the Troyanysshe bloode,
Renne and crye, as thou were woode,
On Eolus, the god of wyndes,
To blowe oute of alle kyndes
So lowde, that he shulde drenche
Lorde, lady, grome, and wenche
Of al the Troyan nacioun,
Withoute any savacioun.
Ther saugh I suche tempeste aryse,
That every herte myght agryse,
To see hyt peynted on the walle.
Ther saugh I graven eke withalle,
Venus, how ye, my lady dere,
Wepynge with ful woful chere,
Prayen Jupiter an hye
To save and kepe that navye
Of the Trojan Eneas,
Sythe that he hir sone was
Ther saugh I Joves Venus kysse,
And graunted of the tempest lysse.
Ther saugh I how the tempest stente,
And how with alle pyne he wente,
And prevely toke arryvage
In the contree of Cartage;
And on the morwe how that he,
And a knyghte highte Achate,
Mette with Venus that day,
Goynge in a queynt array,
As she hadde ben an hunteresse,
With wynde blowynge upon hir tresse;
How Eneas gan hym to pleyne,
Whan that he knewe hir, of his peyne;
And how y-dreynte his shippes were,
Or elles lost, he nyste where;
How she gan hym comfort thoo,
And bad hym to Cartage goo,
And ther he shulde his folke fynde,
That in the see were lefte behynde.
And, shortly of this thyng to pace,
She made Eneas so in grace
Of Dido, quene of that contree,
That, shortly for to telle, she
Became hys love, and lete hym doo
That that weddynge longeth too.
What shulde I speke it more queynte,
Or peyne me my wordes peynte,
To speke of love? hyt wol not be;
I kannot of that faculté.
And eke to telle the manere
How they aqueynteden in fere,
Hyt were a longe processe to telle,
And over longe for yow to dwelle.
Ther sawgh I grave, how Eneas
Tolde Dido every caas,
That hym was tyd upon the see.
And aftir grave was how shee
Made of hym, shortly at oo worde,
Hyr lyfe, hir love, hir luste, hir lorde ;
And did hym al the reverence,
And leyde on hym alle dispence,
That any woman myghte do,
Wenynge hyt had al be so,
As he hir swore; and herby demede
That he was good, for he suche semede.
Allas, what harme doth apparence,
Whan hit is fals in existence !
For he to hir a traytour was;
Wherfore she slowe hir selfe, allas!
Loo, how a woman dothe amys,
To love hym that unknowe ys!
For, be Cryste, lo thus yt fareth;
Hyt is not al golde that glareth.
For, al-so browke I wel myn hede,
Ther may be under godelyhede
Kevered many a shrewde vice;
Therfore be no wyght so nyce,
To take a love oonly for chere,
Or for speche, or for frendly manere;
For this shal every woman fynde,
That some man, of his pure kynde
Wol shewen outward the fairest,
Til he have caught that what him lest;
And than wol he causes fynde,
And sweren how that she ys unkynde,
Or fals, or prevy double was.
Alle this sey I be Eneas
And Dido, and her nyce lest,
That loved al to sone a gest;
Therfore I wol seye a proverbe,
That he that fully knoweth therbe,
May savely ley hyt to his ye;
Withoute drede, this ys no lye.
But let us speke of Eneas,
How he betrayed hir, allas!
And lefte hir ful unkyndely.
So whan she saw al utterly,
That he wolde hir of trouthe fayle,
And wende fro hir to Itayle,
She gan to wringe hir hondes two.
'Allas!' quod she,' what me ys wo!
Allas! is every man thus trewe,
That every yere wolde have a newe,
Yf hit so longe tyme dure?
Or elles three, peraventure?
As thus:-of oon he wolde have fame
In magnyfying of hys name;
Another for frendshippe, seyth he;
And yett ther shal the thridde be,
That shal be take for delyte,
Loo, or for synguler profite.'
In suche wordes gan to pleyne
Dydo of hir grete peyne,
As me mette redely;
None other auttour alegge I.
'Allas!' quod she, 'my swete herte, Have pitee on my sorwes smerte, And slee me not! goo noght awey! 'O woful Dido, weleaway!'
Quod she to hir selfe thoo.
O Eneas! what wol
O, that your love, ne your bonde,
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