Classic and Contemporary Poetry
DIDOS TRUE COMPLAINTE, by ARTHUR GORGES Poet's Biography First Line: Itt was the sylente tyme Last Line: The dolefull queenes complainte. | ||||||||
Itt was the sylente tyme When Phoebus fell to reste And creatures all that lyve on earth Were shrowded in theyr neste. When as the slumber sweete Each wakinge Eye dyd cease, Save onely myne that seldome fyndes The waye to quiett ease. Whose restles mynde to passe The werye tyme awaye, Desyred then to reade the Booke How Pryam dyd decaye. And after what befell The poore remayne of Troye When as the Greekyshe guyle their towne And kingedome did destroye. Wherein me thought I founde The Troyan Duke wann fame; Tyll faythfull Didos open wronge Dyd blott his browe with blame. And to my selfe I sayede AEneas to to fell: How couldst thow leave the curteous Queene? That lovede the so well. But in this musynge moode Before me did appeare, A woman cladd in royall Roobes With sadd and sober cheare. A sworde in hand Shee bare, And ware a Dyademe, And from her balfull wounded breste The gusshinge blood dyd streame. Then unto me shee sayde This syght which thow haste seene Is her of whom thow late dydst reade That was off Carthage Queene. Theis lymmes and shape I bare But not that shameles mynde Which yow in Idle tales doo reade And fayned fables fynde. For that same wandringe Prynce Nor yett his Troyan hoste Dyd never with his fleete arryve Uppon our Lybeane coaste. I prayde not hys reporte of Iliums latter fyre whylst that his manly grace and wordes dyd kyndle my desyer With hyme I dyd not feast; Nor sytt in secrett cave Ne Evar to hys lustful wyle my selfe and honor gave. Twas not for frantycke Love Nor for his sake that I With stroke of myne owne feareles fiste Dyd doo my selfe to dye. But only to avoyde Kinge Jarbas lustfull rage, I dyd my spottles brest unto The murtheringe steele engage. And that reporte to have I doo no whytt dysdaine Synce by my death, I did my lyfe And honor save from stayne. And yett before I dyd Resigne my latter breathe I builte Carthagoes stately walles And vengde Sicheus deathe. Then Maro, what dispyte Hath made thy penn to ryfe So envyousely to touch with shame My chaste and sober lyffe. Lett men henceforth beleve That Storyes trew doo wryte And not geve Credytt to those dreames That Poetts penns indyte Therefore that wretchede man Deserves a vipars name That wold a sylly woman foile, And wrongefully defame. But as theis wordes Shee spake In greate disdayne and spyght Her presence which I then behelde Dyd vanish from my sighte. Whearby I gatherd this For Elder tymes disprayse That worthy Ladyes then weare wrongd As well as now adyes. And therewithall as one twixt greyfe and dreade attainte, In hast I toke my Penn to wryte The dolefull Queenes complainte. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PASTORALL UNFYNYSHED by ARTHUR GORGES AN ECOLOGE BETWEN A SHEPHEARDE AND A HEARDMAN by ARTHUR GORGES AN NEW YEARES GUIFT TO THE KINGS MAJESTIE by ARTHUR GORGES ANOTHER OF THE SAME ARMORIES by ARTHUR GORGES CARNATION, WHIT AND WATCHEDE by ARTHUR GORGES OF MOUNSIEUR, OR CHURCHYARDE by ARTHUR GORGES |
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