Of Dido and the truth of hir death

J Dido and the Quéene of Carthage ground,
Whose lims thou séest so liuely set to sight:
Such one I was, but neuer to be found
So farre in loue as Vergill séemes to wright,
I liude not so in lust and fowle delight.
For neither he that wandring Duke of Troie
Knewe mée, nor yet at Lybie lande ariude:
But to escape Iarbos that did noie
Mée sore, of lyfe my Carcasse I depriude,
To keepe my Hest that he would tho haue riude.
No storme of loue, or dolour made me die,
I slue my selfe to saue my Sheete of shame
Wherein good Sycheus wrapped me perdie:
Then Vergill then the greater be thy blame,
That so by loue dost bréede my fowle defame.