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!' 1300 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? (380) Have ye nat sworn to wyve me to take, Alas! what womman wil ye of me make? 1305 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; 1310 She kneleth, cryeth, that routhe is to devyse; Coniureth him, and profreth him to be His thral, his servant in the leste gree; (390) She falleth him to fote, and swowneth there Dischevele, with her brighte gilte here, 1315 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 1320 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. (400) Mercy, lord! have pite in your thoght!' But al this thing availeth her right noght; 1325 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; 1330 And wedded ther a lady hight Lavyne. A cloth he lafte, and eek his swerd stonding, Whan he fro Dido stal in her sleping, (410) Right at her beddes heed, so gan he hye Whan that he stal a-wey to his navye; 1335 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.' 1340 And thus, allas! with-outen his socours, Twenty tyme y-swowned hath she thanne. And, whan that she un-to her suster Anne (420) Compleyned had, of which I may nat wryte-- So greet a routhe I have hit for tendyte-- 1345 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, 1350 And with his swerd she roof her to the herte. But, as myn autour seith, right thus she seyde;