Complete Works of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey

by Henry Howard

  Our offerings bring, and follow rumours vain.’

  Whom praying in such sort, and griping eke 280

  The altars fast, the mighty father heard;

  And writhed his look toward the royal walls,

  And lovers eke, forgetting their good name.

  To Mercury then gave he thus in charge:

  ‘Hence, son, in haste! and call to thee the winds; 285

  Slide with thy plumes, and tell the Troyan prince

  That now in Carthage loitereth, rechless

  Of the towns granted him by destiny.

  Swift through the skies see thou these words convey:

  His fair Mother behight him not to us 290

  Such one to be; ne therefore twice him saved

  From Greekish arms: but such a one

  As meet might seem great Italy to rule,

  Dreadful in arms, charged with seigniory,

  Shewing in proof his worthy Teucrian race; 295

  And under laws the whole world to subdue.

  If glory of such things nought him enflame,

  Ne that he lists seek honour by some pain;

  The towers yet of Rome, being his sire,

  Doth he envy to young Ascanius? 300

  What mindeth he to frame? or on what hope

  In en’mies land doth he make his abode?

  Ne his offspring in Italy regards?

  Ne yet the land of Lavine doth behold?

  Bid him make sail: have here the sum and end; 305

  Our message thus report.’ When Jove had said,

  Then Mercury ‘gan bend him to obey

  His mighty father’s will: and to his heels

  His golden wings he knits, which him transport,

  With a light wind above the earth and seas. 310

  And then with him his wand he took, whereby

  He calls from hell pale ghosts; and other some

  Thither also he sendeth comfortless:

  Whereby he forceth sleeps, and them bereaves;

  And mortal eyes he closeth up in death. 315

  By power whereof he drives the winds away,

  And passeth eke amid the troubled clouds,

  Till in his flight he ‘gan descry the top

  And the steep flanks of rocky Atlas’ hill,

  That with his crown sustains the welkin up: 320

  Whose head forgrown with pine, circled alway

  With misty clouds, is beaten with wind and storm;

  His shoulders spread with snow; and from his chin

  The springs descend; his beard frozen with ice.

  Here Mercury with equal shining wings 325

  First touched; and with body headling bet,

  To the water then took he his descent:

  Like to the fowl that endlong coasts and stronds

  Swarming with fish, flies sweeping by the sea;

  Cutting betwixt the winds and Libyan lands, 330

  From his grandfather by the mother’s side,

  Cyllène’s child so came, and then alight

  Upon the houses with his winged feet;

  Tofore the towers where he Æneas saw

  Foundations cast, arearing lodges new; 335

  Girt with a sword of jasper, starry bright;

  A shining ‘parel, flamed with stately eye

  Of Tyrian purple, hung his shoulders down,

  The gift and work of wealthy Dido’s hand,

  Striped throughout with a thin thread of gold. 340

  Thus he encounters him: ‘Oh careless wight!

  Both of thy realm, and of thine own affairs;

  A wife-bound man now dost thou rear the walls

  Of high Carthage, to build a goodly town!

  From the bright skies the ruler of the Gods 345

  Sent me to thee, that with his beck commands

  Both heav’n and earth: in haste he gave me charge

  Through the light air this message thee to say.

  What framest thou? or on what hope thy time

  In idleness dost waste in Afric land? 350

  Of so great things if nought the fame thee stir,

  Ne list by travail honour to pursue;

  Ascanius yet, that waxeth fast, behold;

  And the hope of Iulus’ seed, thine heir;

  To whom the realm of Italy belongs, 355

  And soil of Rome.’ When Mercury had said,

  Amid his tale far off from mortal eyes

  Into light air he vanish’d out of sight.

  Æneas with that vision striken down,

  Well near distraught, upstart his hair for dread, 360

  Amid his throatal his voice likewise ‘gan stick.

  For to depart by night he longeth now,

  And the sweet land to leave, astoined sore

  With this advise and message of the Gods.

  What may he do, alas! or by what words 365

  Dare he persuade the raging Queen in love?

  Or in what sort may he his tale begin?

  Now here, now there his rechless mind ‘gan run,

  And diversely him draws, discoursing all.

  After long doubts this sentence seemed best: 370

  Mnestheus first, and strong Cloanthus eke

  He calls to him, with Sergest; unto whom

  He gave in charge his navy secretly

  For to prepare, and drive to the sea coast

  His people; and their armour to address; 375

  And for the cause of change to feign excuse:

  And that he, when good Dido least foreknew,

  Or did suspect so great a love could break,

  Would wait his time to speak thereof most meet;

  The nearest way to hasten his intent. 380

  Gladly his will and biddings they obey.

  Full soon the Queen this crafty sleight ‘gan smell

  (Who can deceive a lover in forecast?)

  And first foresaw the motions for to come;

  Things most assured fearing. Unto whom 385

  That wicked Fame reported, how to flight

  Was arm’d the fleet, all ready to avale.

  Then ill bested of counsel, rageth she;

  And whisketh through the town: like Bacchus’ nun

  As Thyas stirs, the sacred rites begun, 390

  And when the wonted third years sacrifice

  Doth prick her forth, hearing Bacchus’ name hallowed,

  And that the feastful night of Citheron

  Doth call her forth, with noise of dancing.

  At length herself bordeth Æneas thus: 395

  Unfaithful wight! to cover such a fault

  Couldest thou hope? unwist to leave my land?

  Not thee our love, nor yet right hand betrothed,

  Ne cruel death of Dido may withhold?

  But that thou wilt in winter ships prepare, 400

  And try the seas in broil of whirling winds?

  What if the land thou seekest were not strange!

  If not unknowen? or ancient Troy yet stood?

  In rough seas yet should Troye town be sought?

  Shunnest thou me? By these tears, and right hand, 405

  (For nought else have I, wretched, left myself)

  By our spousals and marriage begun,

  If I of thee deserved ever well,

  Or thing of mine were ever to thee lief;

  Rue on this realm, whose ruin is at hand. 410

  If ought be left that prayer may avail,

  I thee beseech to do away this mind.

  The Libyans, and tyrants of Nomadane,

  For thee me hate: my Tyrians eke for thee

  Are wroth; by thee my shamefastness eke stained, 415

  And good renown, whereby up to the stars

  Peerless I clamb. To whom wilt thou me leave,

  Ready to die, my sweet guest? sith this name

  Is all, as now, that of a spouse remains.

  But whereto now should I prolong my death? 420

  What! until my brother Pigmalion

/>   Beat down my walls? or the Getulian king

  Hiarbas, yet captive lead me away?

  Before thy flight a child had I once borne,

  Or seen a young Æneas in my court 425

  Play up and down, that might present thy face,

  All utterly I could not seem forsaken.’

  Thus said the Queen. He to the God’s advice,

  Unmoved held his eyes, and in his breast

  Represt his care, and strove against his will: 430

  And these few words at last then forth he cast.

  ‘Never shall I deny, Queen, thy desert;

  Greater than thou in words may well express.

  To think on thee ne irk me aye it shall,

  Whiles of myself I shall have memory; 435

  And whiles the spirit these limbs of mine shall rule.

  For present purpose somewhat shall I say.

  Never meant I to cloak the same by stealth,

  Slander me not, ne to escape by flight:

  Nor I to thee pretended marriage; 440

  Ne hither came to join me in such league.

  If destiny at mine own liberty,

  To lead my life would have permitted me,

  After my will, my sorrow to redoub,

  Troy and the remainder of our folk 445

  Restore I should: and with these scaped hands

  The walls again unto these vanquished,

  And palace high of Priam eke repair.

  But now Apollo, called Grineus,

  And prophecies of Lycia me advise 450

  To seize upon the realm of Italy:

  That is my love, my country, and my land.

  If Carthage turrets thee, Phœnician born,

  And of a Libyan town the sight detain;

  To us Troyans why doest thou then envy 455

  In Italy to make our resting seat?

  Lawful is eke for us strange realms to seek.

  As oft as night doth cloak with shadows dark

  The earth, as oft as flaming stars appear,

  The troubled ghost of my father Anchises 460

  So oft in sleep doth fray me, and advise:

  The wronged head by me of my dear son,

  Whom I defraud of the Hesperian crown,

  And lands allotted him by destiny.

  The messenger eke of the Gods but late 465

  Sent down from Jove (I swear by either head)

  Passing the air, did this to me report.

  In bright day-light the God myself I saw

  Enter these walls, and with these ears him heard.

  Leave then with plaint to vex both thee and me: 470

  Against my will to Italy I go.’

  Whiles in this sort he did his tale pronounce,

  With wayward look she ‘gan him aye behold,

  And rolling eyes, that moved to and fro;

  With silent look discoursing over all: 475

  And forth in rage at last thus ‘gan she upbraid:

  ‘Faithless! forsworn! ne Goddess was thy dam!

  Nor Dardanus beginner of thy race!

  But of hard rocks mount Caucase monstruous

  Bred thee, and teats of Tyger gave thee suck. 480

  But what should I dissemble now my cheer?

  Or me reserve to hope of greater things?

  Minds he our tears? or ever moved his eyen?

  Wept he for ruth? or pitied he our love?

  What shall I set before? or where begin? 485

  Juno, nor Jove with just eyes this beholds.

  Faith is no where in surety to be found.

  Did I not him, thrown up upon my shore

  In need receive, and fonded eke invest

  Of half my realm? his navy lost, repair? 490

  From death’s danger his fellows eke defend?

  Ay me! with rage and furies, lo! I drive.

  Apollo now, now Lycian prophecies,

  Another while, the messenger of Gods,

  He says, sent down from mighty Jove himself. 495

  The dreadful charge amid the skies hath brought.

  As though that were the travail of the Gods,

  Or such a care their quietness might move!

  I hold thee not, nor yet gainsay thy words:

  To Italy pass on by help of winds; 500

  And through the floods go search thy kingdom new

  If ruthful Gods have any power, I trust

  Amid the rocks thy guerdon thou shalt find;

  When thou shalt clepe full oft on Dido’s name.

  With burial brandes I, absent, shall thee chase: 505

  And when cold death from life these limbs divides,

  My ghost each where shall still on thee await.

  Thou shalt abye; and I shall hear thereof,

  Among the souls below the bruit shall come.’

  With such like words she cut off half her tale, 510

  With pensive heart abandoning the light.

  And from his sight herself ‘gan far remove;

  Forsaking him, that many things in fear

  Imagined, and did prepare to say.

  Her swouning limbs her damsels ‘gan relieve, 515

  And to her chamber bare of marble stone;

  And laid her on her bed with tapets spread.

  But just Æneas, though he did desire

  With comfort sweet her sorrows to appease,

  And with his words to banish all her care; 520

  Wailing her much, with great love overcome:

  The Gods’ will yet he worketh, and resorts

  Unto his navy. Where the Troyans fast

  Fell to their work, from the shore to unstock

  High rigged ships: now fletes the tallowed keel; 525

  Their oars with leaves yet green from wood they bring;

  And masts unshave for haste, to take their flight.

  You might have seen them throng out of the town

  Like ants, when they do spoil the bing of corn,

  For winter’s dread, which they bear to their den: 530

  When the black swarm creeps over all the fields,

  And thwart the grass by strait paths drags their prey:

  The great grains then some on their shoulders truss,

  Some drive the troop, some chastise eke the slow:

  That with their travail chafed is each path. 535

  Beholding this, what thought might Dido have?

  What sighs gave she? when from her towers high

  The large coasts she saw haunted with Troyan’s works,

  And in her sight the seas with din confounded?

  O, witless Love! what thing is that to do 540

  A mortal mind thou canst not force thereto?

  Forced she is to tears ay to return,

  With new requests to yield her heart to love:

  And lest she should before her causeless death

  Leave any thing untried: ‘O Sister Anne!’ 545

  Quoth she, ‘behold the whole coast round about,

  How they prepare, assembled every where;

  The streaming sails abiding but for wind:

  The shipmen crown their ships with boughs for joy

  O sister! if so great a sorrow I 550

  Mistrusted had, it were more light to bear.

  Yet natheless this for me wretched wight,

  Anne, shalt thou do: for faithless, thee alone

  He reverenced, thee eke his secrets told;

  The meetest time thou knowest to borde the man: 555

  To my proud foe thus, Sister, humbly say;

  I with the Greeks within the port Aulide

  Conjured not, the Troyans to destroy;

  Nor to the walls of Troy yet sent my fleet:

  Nor cinders of his father Anchises 560

  Disturbed have, out of his sepulture.

  Why lets he not my words sink in his ears

  So hard to overtreat? Whither whirls he?

  This last boon yet grant he to wretched love

  Prosperous winds
for to depart with ease 565

  Let him abide; the foresaid marriage now,

  That he betray’d, I do not him require;

  Nor that he should fair Italy forgo:

  Neither I would he should his kingdom leave.

  Quiet I ask, and a time of delay, 570

  And respite eke my fury to assuage,

  Till my mishap teach me, all comfortless,

  How for to wail my grief. This latter grace,

  Sister, I crave: have thou remorse of me;

  Which, if thou shalt vouchsafe, with heaps I shall 575

  Leave by my death redoubled unto thee.’

  Moisted with tears thus wretched gan she plain:

  Which Anne reports, and answer brings again.

  Nought tears him move, ne yet to any words

  He can be framed with gentle mind to yield. 580

  The Werdes withstand, a God stops his meek ears.

  Like to the aged boisteous bodied oak,

  The which among the Alps the Northern winds

  Blowing now from this quarter, now from that,

  Betwixt them strive to overwhelm with blasts: 585

  The whistling air among the branches roars,

  Which all at once bow to the earth her crops,

  The stock once smit: whiles in the rocks the tree

  Sticks fast; and look, how high to the heav’n her top

  Rears up, so deep her root spreads down to hell. 590

  So was this Lord now here now there beset

  With words; in whose stout breast wrought many cares.

  But still his mind in one remains; in vain

  The tears were shed. Then Dido, fray’d of Fates,

  Wisheth for death, irked to see the skies. 595

  And that she might the rather work her will,

  And leave the light, (a grisly thing to tell)

  Upon the altars burning full of ‘cense

  When she set gifts of sacrifice, she saw

  The holy water stocks wax black within; 600

  The wine eke shed, change into filthy gore:

  This she to none, not to her sister told.

  A marble temple in her palace eke,

  In memory of her old spouse, there stood,

  In great honour and worship, which she held, 605

  With snow white clothes deck’d, and with boughs of feast:

  Whereout was heard her husband’s voice, and speech

  Cleping for her, when dark night hid the earth:

  And oft the owl with rueful song complain’d

  From the housetop, drawing long doleful tunes. 610

  And many things forespoke by prophets past

  With dreadful warning ‘gan her now affray:

  And stern Æneas seemed in her sleep

  To chase her still about, distraught in rage:

  And still her thought, that she was left alone 615

  Uncompanied, great voyages to wend,