by Christopher Marlowe (and Thomas Nashe?)
Ascanius, his son
Iarbus, King of Gaetulia
Dido, Queen of Carthage
Anna, her sister
Trojan soldiers, Carthaginian Lords, Attendants
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
Here the curtains draw, there is discovered
Jupiter dandling Ganymede upon his knee,
And Mercury lying asleep.
JUPITER. Come, gentle Ganymede, and play with me.
I love thee well, say Juno what she will.
GANYMEDE. I am much better for your worthless love,
That will not shield me from her shrewish blows.
Today, whenas I filled into your cups
And held the cloth of pleasance while you drank,
She reached me such a rap for that I spilled,
As made the blood run down about mine ears.
JUPITER. What? Dares she strike the darling of my thoughts?
By Saturn's soul, and this earth threat'ning hair,
That, shaken thrice, makes nature's buildings quake,
I vow, if she but once frown on thee more,
To hang her, meteorlike, 'twixt heaven and earth,
And bind her, hand and foot, with golden cords,
As once I did for harming Hercules.
GANYMEDE. Might I but see that pretty sport afoot,
O, how would I with Helen's brother laugh,
And bring the gods to wonder at the game.
Sweet Jupiter, if e'er I pleased thine eye
Or seemed fair, walled in with eagle's wings,
Grace my immortal beauty with this boon,
And I will spend my time in thy bright arms.
JUPITER. What is't, sweet wag, I should deny thy youth,
Whose face reflects such pleasure to mine eyes,
As I, exhaled with thy fire darting beams,
Have oft driven back the horses of the night,
Whenas they would have haled thee from my sight.
Sit on my knee and call for thy content;
Control proud Fate and cut the thread of Time.
Why, are not all the gods at thy command
And heaven and earth the bounds of thy delight?
Vulcan shall dance to make thee laughing sport,
And my nine daughters sing when thou art sad.
From Juno's bird I'll pluck her spotted pride
To make thee fans wherewith to cool thy face,
And Venus' swans shall shed their silver down
To sweeten out the slumbers of thy bed.
Hermes no more shall show the world his wings,
If that thy fancy in his feathers dwell,
But, as this one, I'll tear them all from him,
Do thou but say, "their colour pleaseth me."
Hold here, my little love. These linked gems
My Juno ware upon her marriage day,
Put thou about thy neck, my own sweet heart,
And trick thy arms and shoulders with my theft.
GANYMEDE. I would have a jewel for mine ear
And a fine brooch to put in my hat,
And then I'll hug with you an hundred times.
JUPITER. And shall have, Ganymede, if thou wilt be my love.
VENUS. Ay, this is it! You can sit toying there
And playing with that female wanton boy,
While my Aeneas wanders on the seas
And rests a prey to every billow's pride.
Juno, false Juno, in her chariot's pomp,
Drawn through the heavens by steeds of Boreas' brood,
Made Hebe to direct her airy wheels
Into the windy country of the clouds,
Where, finding Aeolus entrenched with storms
And guarded with a thousand grisly ghosts,
She humbly did beseech him for our bane,
And charged him drown my son with all his train.
Then gan the winds break ope their brazen doors
And all Aeolia to be up in arms
Poor Troy must now be sacked upon the sea,
And Neptune's waves be envious men of war;
Epeus' horse, to Aetna's hill transformed,
Prepared stands to wrack their wooden walls,
And Aeolus, like Agamemnon, sounds
The surges, his fierce soldiers, to the spoil.
See how the night, Ulysses-like, comes forth
And intercepts the day, as Dolon erst.
Ay me! The stars surprised, like Rhesus' steeds,
Are drawn by darkness forth Astraeus' tents.
What shall I do to save thee, my sweet boy,
Whenas the waves do threat our crystal world,
And Proteus, raising hills of floods on high,
Intends ere long to sport him in the sky?
False Jupiter, reward'st thou virtue so?
What? Is not piety exempt from woe?
Then die, Aeneas, in thine innocence,
Since that religion hath no recompense.
JUPITER. Content thee, Cytherea, in thy care,
Since thy Aeneas' wandering fate is firm,
Whose weary limbs shall shortly make repose
In those fair walls I promised him of yore.
But first in blood must his good fortune bud,
Before he be the lord of Turnus' town,
Or force her smile that hitherto hath frowned.
Three winters shall he with the Rutiles war,
And in the end subdue them with his sword;
And full three summers likewise shall he waste
In managing those fierce barbarian minds,
Which once performed, poor Troy, so long suppressed,
From forth her ashes shall advance her head,
And flourish once again, that erst was dead.
But bright Ascanius, beauty's better work,
Who with the sun divides one radiant shape,
Shall build his throne amidst those starry towers
That earth-born Atlas, groaning, underprops.
No bounds but heaven shall bound his empery,
Whose azured gates enchased with his name,
Shall make the morning haste her gray uprise
To feed her eyes with his engraven fame.
Thus in stout Hector's race thee hundred years
The Roman sceptre royal shall remain,
Till that a princess priest conceived by Mars,
Shall yield to dignity a double birth,
Who will eternize Troy in their attempts.
VENUS. How may I credit these thy flattering terms,
When yet both sea and sands beset their ships,
And Phoebus, as in Stygian pools, refrains
To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhene main?
JUPITER. I will take order for that presently.
Hermes awake, and haste to Neptune's realm,
Whereas the wind god, warring now with Fate,
Besiege the offspring of our kingly loins.
Charge him from me to turn his stormy powers
And fetter them in Vulcan's sturdy brass,
That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsman's peace.
Venus, farewell; thy son shall be our care.
Come, Ganymede, we must about this gear.
Exeunt Jupiter with Ganymede.
VENUS. Disquiet seas, lay down your swelling looks,
And court Aeneas with your calmy cheer,
Whose beauteous burden well might make you proud,
Had not the heavens, conceived with hell-born clouds,
Veiled his resplendent glory from your view.
For my sake pity him, Oceanus,
That erstwhile issued from thy wat'ry loins
And had my being from thy bubbling froth.
Triton, I know, hath filled his trump with Troy,
And therefore will take pity on his toil,
And call both Thetis and Cymothoe
To succour him in this extremity.
Enter Aeneas with Ascanius,
with one or two more.
What? Do I see my son now come on shore?
Venus, how art thou compassed with content,
The while thine eyes attract their sought-for joys.
Great Jupiter, still honoured mayst thou be
For this so friendly aid in time of need.
Here in this bush disguised will I stand,
While my Aeneas spends himself in plaints,
And heaven and earth with his unrest acquaints.
AENEAS. You sons of care, companions of my course,
Priam's misfortune follows us by sea,
And Helen's rape doth haunt ye at the heels.
How many dangers have we overpassed!
Both barking Scylla and the sounding rocks,
The Cyclops' shelves, and grim Ceraunia's seat
Have you o'ergone and yet remain alive?
Pluck up your hearts, since fate still rests our friend,
And changing heavens may those good days return,
Which Pergama did vaunt in all her pride.
ACHATES. Brave prince of Troy, thou only art our god,
That by thy virtues freest us from annoy.
And mak'st our hopes survive to coming joys.
Do thou but smile and cloudy heaven will clear,
Whose night and day descendeth from thy brows.
Though we be now in extreme misery
And rest the map of weather-beaten woe,
Yet shall the aged sun shed forth his hair
To make us live unto our former heat,
And every beast the forest doth send forth
Bequeath her young ones to our scanted food.
ASCANIUS. Father, I faint. Good father, give me meat.
AENEAS. Alas, sweet boy, thou must be still a while,
Till we have fire to dress the meat we killed.
Gentle Achates, reach the tinder box,
That we may make a fire to warm us with
And roast our new found victuals on this shore.
VENUS. See what strange arts necessity finds out.
How near, my sweet Aeneas, art thou driven!
AENEAS. Hold, take this candle and go light a fire.
You shall have leaves and windfall boughs enow,
Near to these woods, to roast your meat withal.
Ascanius, go and dry thy drenched limbs,
While I with my Achates rove abroad,
To know what coast the wind hath driven us on,
Or whether men or beasts inhabit it.
ACHATES. The air is pleasant, and the soil most fit
For cities and society's supports;
Yet much I marvel that I cannot find
No steps of men imprinted in the earth.
VENUS. Now is the time for me to play my part.
Ho, young men! Saw you as you came
Any of all my sisters wandering here,
Having a quiver girded to her side
And clothed in a spotted leopard's skin?
AENEAS. I neither saw nor heard of any such.
But what may I, fair virgin, call your name,
Whose looks set forth no mortal form to view,
Nor speech bewrays aught human in thy birth?
Thou art a goddess that delud'st our eyes
And shroud'st thy beauty in this borrowed shape,
But whether thou the Sun's bright sister be,
Or one of chaste Diana's fellow nymphs,
Live happy in the height of all content,
And lighten our extremes with this one boon,
As to instruct us under what good heaven
We breathe as now, and what this world is called
On which by tempest's fury we are cast.
Tell us, O, tell us, that are ignorant,
And this right hand shall make thy altars crack
With mountain heaps of milk-white sacrifice.
VENUS. Such honour, stranger, do I not affect.
It is the use for Tyrian maids to wear
Their bow and quiver in this modest sort
And suit themselves in purple for the nonce,
That they may trip more lightly o'er the lawns,
And overtake the tusked boar in chase.
But for the land whereof thou dost inquire,
It is the Punic kingdom, rich and strong,
Adjoining on Agenor's stately town,
The kingly seat of southern Libya,
Whereas Sidonian Dido rules as queen.
But what are you that ask of me these things?
Whence may you come, or whither will you go?
AENEAS. Of Troy am I. Aeneas is my name,
Who driven by war from forth my native world,
Put sails to sea to seek out Italy;
And my divine descent from sceptred Jove.
With twice twelve Phrygian ships I ploughed the deep
And made that way my mother Venus led,
But of them all scarce seven do anchor safe,
And they so wracked and weltered by the waves,
As every tide tilts 'twixt their oaken sides.
And all of them, unburdened of their load,
Are ballasted with billows' wat'ry weight.
But hapless I, God wot, poor and unknown,
Do trace these Libyan deserts all despised,
Exiled forth Europe and wide Asia both,
And have not any coverture but heaven.
VENUS. Fortune hath favoured thee, whate'er thou be,
In sending thee unto this courteous coast.
A' God's name, on, and haste thee to the court,
Where Dido will receive ye with her smiles.
And for thy ships, which thou supposest lost,
Not one of them hath perished in the storm,
But are arrived safe not far from hence.
And so I leave thee to thy fortune's lot,
Wishing good luck unto thy wandering steps.
AENEAS. Achates, 'tis my mother that is fled;
I know her by the movings of her feet.
Stay, gentle Venus! Fly not from thy son!
Too cruel, why wilt thou forsake me thus,
Or in these shades deceiv'st mine eyes so oft?
Why talk we not together hand in hand,
And tell our griefs in more familiar terms?
But thou art gone and leav'st me here alone
To dull the air with my discoursive moan.
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
Enter Ilioneus, Cloanthus, Iarbus and Sergestus.
ILIONEUS. Follow, ye Trojans, follow this brave lord,
And plain to him the sum of your distress.
IARBUS. Why, what are you, or wherefore do you sue?
ILIONEUS. Wretches of Troy, envied of all the winds,
That crave such favour at your honour's feet,
As poor distressed misery may plead.
Save, save, O save our ships from cruel fire,
That do complain the wounds of thousand waves,
And spare our lives whom every spite pursues.
We come not, we, to wrong your Libyan gods,
Or steal your household Lares from their shrines;
Our hands are not prepared to lawless spoil,
Nor armed to offend in any kind.
Such force is far from our unweaponed thoughts,
Whose fading weal, of victory forsook,
Forbids all hope to harbour near our hearts.
IARBUS. But tell me, Trojans, Trojans if you be,
Unto what fruitful quarters were ye bound,
Before that Boreas buckled with your sails?
CLOANTHUS. There is a place, Hesperia termed by us,
An ancient empire, famoused for arms,
And fertile in fair Ceres' furrowed wealth,
Which now we call Italia, of his name
That in such peace long time did rule the same.
Thither made we,
When suddenly gloomy Orion rose
And led our ships into the shallow sands,
Whereas the southern wind with brackish breath
Dispersed them all amongst the wrackful rocks.
From thence a few of us escaped to land;
The rest, we fear, are folded in the floods.
IARBUS. Brave men-at-arms, abandon fruitless fears,
Since Carthage knows to entertain distress.
SERGESTUS. Ay, but the barbarous sort do threat our ships
And will not let us lodge upon the sands.
In multitudes they swarm unto the shore
And from the first earth interdict our feet.
IARBUS. Myself will see they shall not trouble ye.
Your men and you shall banquet in our court,
And every Trojan be as welcome here
As Jupiter to silly Baucis' house.
Come in with me. I'll bring you to my queen,
Who shall confirm my words with further deeds.
SERGESTUS. Thanks, gentle lord, for such unlooked for grace.
Might we but once more see Aeneas' face,
Then would we hope to quite such friendly turns
As shall surpass the wonder of our speech.
ACT TWO, SCENE ONE
Enter Aeneas, Achates, and Ascanius.
AENEAS. Where am I now? These should be Carthage walls.
ACHATES. Why stands my sweet Aeneas thus amazed?
AENEAS. O my Achates, Theban Niobe,
Who for her sons' death wept out life and breath
And, dry with grief, was turned into a stone,
Had not such passions in her head as I.
Methinks that town there should be Troy, yon Ida's Hill,
There Xanthus' stream, because here's Priamus;
And when I know it is not, then I die.
ACHATES. And in this humour is Achates too;
I cannot choose but fall upon my knees
And kiss his hand. O, where is Hecuba?
Here she was wont to sit, but, saving air,
Is nothing here. And what is this but stone?
AENEAS. O, yet this stone doth make Aeneas weep!
And would my prayers (as Pygmalion's did)
Could give it life, that under his conduct
We might sail back to Troy and be revenged
On these hardhearted Grecians which rejoice
That nothing now is left of Priamus.
O, Priamus is left, and this is he!
Come, come aboard; pursue the hateful Greeks.
ACHATES. What means Aeneas?
AENEAS. Achates, though mine eyes say this is stone,
Yet thinks my mind that this is Priamus,
And when my grieved heart sighs and says no,
Then would it leap out to give Priam life.
O, were I not at all, so thou mightst be!
Achates, see! King Priam wags his hand!
He is alive! Troy is not overcome!
ACHATES. Thy mind, Aeneas, that would have it so,
Deludes thy eyesight. Priamus is dead.
AENEAS. Ah, Troy is sacked and Priamus is dead,
And why should poor Aeneas be alive?
ASCANIUS. Sweet father, leave to weep. This is not he,
For were he Priam he would smile on me.
ACHATES. Aeneas see; here come the citizens.
Leave to lament, lest they laugh at our fears. .
Enter Cloanthus, Sergestus, Ilioneus, and others.
AENEAS. Lords of this town, or whatsoever style
Belongs unto your name, vouchsafe of ruth
To tell us who inhabits this fair town,
What kind of people and who governs them,
For we are strangers driven on this shore
And scarcely know within what clime we are.
ILIONEUS. I hear Aeneas' voice, but see him not,
For none of these can be our general.
ACHATES. Like Ilioneus speaks this noble man,
But Ilioneus goes not in such robes.
SERGESTUS. You are Achates, or I am deceived.
ACHATES. Aeneas, see Sergestus or his ghost!
ILIONEUS. He names Aeneas; let us kiss his feet.
CLOANTHUS. It is our captain! See Ascanius!
SERGESTUS. Live long Aeneas and Ascanius!
AENEAS. Achates, speak, for I am overjoyed.
ACHATES. O Ilioneus, art thou yet alive?
ILIONEUS. Blest be the time I see Achates' face.
CLOANTHUS. Why turns Aeneas from his trusty friends?
AENEAS. Sergestus, Ilioneus, and the rest,
Your sight amazed me. O, what destinies
Have brought my sweet companions in such plight?
O tell me, for I long to be resolved.
ILIONEUS. Lovely Aeneas, these are Carthage walls,
And here Queen Dido wears th' imperial crown,
Who for Troy's sake hath entertained us all
And clad us in these wealthy robes we wear.
Oft hath she asked us under whom we served,
And when we told her, she would weep for grief,
Thinking the sea had swallowed up thy ships;
And now she sees thee, how will she rejoice!
SERGESTUS. See where her servitors pass through the hall,
Bearing a banquet. Dido is not far.
ILIONEUS. Look where she comes! Aeneas, view her well.
AENEAS. Well may I view her, but she sees not me.
Enter Dido and her train.
DIDO. What stranger art thou that dost eye me thus?
AENEAS. Sometime I was a Trojan, mighty queen,
But Troy is not. What shall I say I am?
ILIONEUS. Renowned Dido, 'tis our general,
DIDO. Warlike Aeneas, and in these base robes!
Go fetch the garment which Sichaeus ware.
Exit an Attendant.
Brave prince, welcome to Carthage and to me,
Both happy that Aeneas is our guest.
Sit in this chair and banquet with a queen.
Aeneas is Aeneas, were he clad
In weeds as bad as ever Irus ware.
AENEAS. This is no seat for one that's comfortless.
May it please your grace to let Aeneas wait,
For though my birth be great, my fortune's mean,
Too mean to be companion to a queen.
DIDO. Thy fortune may be greater than thy birth.
Sit down, Aeneas, sit in Dido's place,
And if this be thy son, as I suppose,
Here let him sit. Be merry, lovely child.
AENEAS. This place beseems me not. O, pardon me.
DIDO. I'll have it so. Aeneas, be content.
ASCANIUS. Madam, you shall be my mother.
DIDO. And so I will, sweet child. Be merry man!
Here's to thy better fortune and good stars.
AENEAS. In all humility, I thank your grace.
DIDO. Remember who thou art. Speak like thyself.
Humility belongs to common grooms.
AENEAS. And who so miserable as Aeneas is?
DIDO. Lies it in Dido's hands to make thee blest,
Then be assured thou art not miserable.
AENEAS. O Priamus! O Troy! Oh Hecuba!
DIDO. May I entreat thee to discourse at large,
And truly too, how Troy was overcome,
For many tales go of that city's fall,
And scarcely do agree upon one point.
Some say Antenor did betray the town;
Others report 'twas Sinon's perjury;
But all in this, that Troy is overcome
And Priam dead. Yet how, we hear no news.
AENEAS. A woeful tale bids Dido to unfold,
Whose memory, like pale Death's stony mace,
Beats forth my senses from this troubled soul
And makes Aeneas sink at Dido's feet.
DIDO. What, faints Aeneas to remember Troy,
In whose defence he fought so valiantly?
Look up and speak.
AENEAS. Then speak, Aeneas, with Achilles' tongue,
And Dido and you Carthaginian peers
Hear me, but yet with Myrmidons' harsh ears,
Daily inured to broils and massacres,
Lest you be moved too much with my sad tale.
The Grecian soldiers, tired with ten years' war,
Began to cry, "let us unto our ships,
Troy is invincible. Why stay we here?"
With whose outcries Atrides being appalled,
Summoned the captains to his princely tent,
Who, looking on the scars we Trojans gave,
Seeing the number of their men decreased
And the remainder weak and out of heart,
Gave up their voices to dislodge the camp.
And so in troops all marched to Tenedos,
Where when they came, Ulysses on the sand
Assayed with honey words to turn them back.
And as he spoke to further his intent,
The winds did drive huge billows to the shore,
And heaven was darkened with tempestuous clouds.
Then he alleged the gods would have them stay,
And prophesied Troy should be overcome;
And therewithal he called false Sinon forth,
A man compact of craft and perjury,
Whose ticing tongue was made of Hermes' pipe,
To force an hundred watchful eyes to sleep.
And him, Epeus having made the horse,
With sacrificing wreaths upon his head,
Ulysses sent to our unhappy town,
Who, grovelling in the mire of Xanthus' banks,
His hands bound at his back, and both his eyes
Turned up to heaven, as one resolved to die,
Our Phrygian shepherds haled within the gates
And brought unto the court of Priamus,
To whom he used action so pitiful,
Looks so remorseful, vows so forcible,
As therewithal the old man, overcome,
Kissed him, embraced him, and unloosed his bands.
And then - O Dido, pardon me!
DIDO. Nay, leave not here. Resolve me of the rest.
AENEAS. O, th' enchanting words of that base slave
Made him to think Epeus' pine tree horse
A sacrifice t' appease Minerva's wrath,
The rather, for that one Laocoon,
Breaking a spear upon his hollow breast,
Was with two winged serpents stung to death.
Whereat aghast, we were commanded straight
With reverence to draw it into Troy,
In which unhappy work was I employed.
These hands did help to hale it to the gates,
Through which it could not enter, 'twas so huge.
O, had it never entered, Troy had stood!
But Priamus, impatient of delay,
Enforced a wide breach in that rampired wall,
Which thousand battering rams could never pierce,
And so came in this fatal instrument;
At whose accursed feet, as overjoyed,
We banqueted till, overcome with wine,
Some surfeited and others soundly slept.
Which Sinon viewing, caused the Greekish spies
To haste to Tenedos, and tell the camp.
Then he unlocked the horse, and suddenly
From out his entrails Neoptolemus,
Setting his spear upon the ground, leaped forth,
And after him a thousand Grecians more,
In whose stern faces shined the quenchless fire
That after burnt the pride of Asia.
By this, the camp was come unto the walls,
And through the breach did march into the streets,
Where, meeting with the rest, "kill, kill," they cried.
Frighted with this confused noise, I rose,
And looking from a turret, might behold
Young infants swimming in their parents' blood,
Headless carcasses piled up in heaps,
Virgins half-dead, dragged by their golden hair
And with main force flung on a ring of pikes,
Old men with swords thrust through their aged sides,
Kneeling for mercy to a Greekish lad,
Who with steel poleaxes dashed out their brains.
Then buckled I mine armour, drew my sword,
And thinking to go down, came Hector's ghost,
With ashy visage, bluish sulphur eyes,
His arms torn from his shoulders, and his breast
Furrowed with wounds, and, that which made me weep,
Thongs at his heels, by which Achilles' horse
Drew him in triumph through the Greekish camp,
Burst from the earth, crying "Aeneas, fly!
Troy is afire! The Grecians have the town!"
DIDO. O Hector, who weeps not to hear thy name?
AENEAS. Yet flung I forth, and, desperate of my life,
Ran in the thickest throngs, and with this sword
Sent many of their savage ghosts to hell.
At last came Pyrrhus, fell and full of ire,
His harness dropping blood, and on his spear
The mangled head of Priam's youngest son,
And after him his band of Myrmidons,
With balls of wild fire in their murdering paws,
Which made the funeral flame that burnt fair Troy
All which hemmed me about, crying, "this is he."
DIDO. Ah, how could poor Aeneas scape their hands?
AENEAS. My mother, Venus, jealous of my health,
Conveyed me from their crooked nets and bands.
So I escaped the furious Pyrrhus' wrath,
Who then ran to the palace of the king,
And at Jove's altar finding Priamus,
About whose withered neck hung Hecuba,
Folding his hand in hers, and jointly both
Beating their breasts and falling on the ground,
He, with his falchion's point raised up at once,
And with Megaera's eyes, stared in their face,
Threat'ning a thousand deaths at every glance.
To whom the aged king thus, trembling, spoke:
"Achilles' son, remember what I was,
Father of fifty sons, but they are slain;
Lord of my fortune, but my fortune's turned;
King of this city, but my Troy is fired;
And now am neither father, lord, nor king.
Yet who so wretched but desires to live?
O, let me live, great Neoptolemus!"
Not moved at all, but smiling at his tears,
This butcher, whilst his hands were yet held up,
Treading upon his breast, struck off his hands.
DIDO. O end, Aeneas! I can hear no more.
AENEAS. At which the frantic queen leaped on his face,
And in his eyelids hanging by the nails,
A little while prolonged her husband's life.
At last the soldiers pulled her by the heels
And swung her howling in the empty air,
Which sent an echo to the wounded king,
Whereat he lifted up his bed-rid limbs,
And would have grappled with Achilles' son,
Forgetting both his want of strength and hands,
(Which he disdaining, whisk'd his sword about,)
And with the wind thereof the king fell down.
Then from the navel to the throat at once
He ripped old Priam, at whose latter gasp
Jove's marble statue 'gan to bend the brow,
As loathing Pyrrhus for this wicked act.
Yet he, undaunted, took his father's flag
And dipped it in the old king's chill cold blood,
And then in triumph ran into the streets,
Through which he could not pass for slaughtered men.
So, leaning on his sword, he stood stone still,
Viewing the fire wherewith rich Ilion burned.
By this, I got my father on my back,
This young boy in mine arms, and by the hand
Led fair Creusa, my beloved wife.
When thou, Achates, with thy sword mad'st way,
And we were round environed with the Greeks,
O there I lost my wife, and had not we
Fought manfully, I had not told this tale.
Yet manhood would not serve. Of force we fled,
And as we went unto our ships, thou knowest
We saw Cassandra sprawling in the streets,
Whom Ajax ravished in Diana's fane,
Her cheeks swollen with sighs, her hair all rent,
Whom I took up to bear unto our ships.
But suddenly the Grecians followed us,
And I, alas, was forced to let her lie.
Then got we to our ships, and being aboard,
Polyxena cried out, "Aeneas, stay!
The Greeks pursue me. Stay and take me in!"
Moved with her voice, I leaped into the sea,
Thinking to bear her on my back aboard,
For all our ships were launched into the deep,
And as I swum, she, standing on the shore,
Was by the cruel Myrmidons surprised
And after by that Pyrrhus sacrificed.
DIDO. I die with melting ruth. Aeneas, leave.
ANNA. O, what became of aged Hecuba?
IARBUS. How got Aeneas to the fleet again?
DIDO. But how scaped Helen, she that caused this war?
AENEAS. Achates, speak. Sorrow hath tired me quite.
ACHATES. What happened to the queen we cannot show.
We hear they led her captive into Greece.
As for Aeneas, he swam quickly back,
And Helena betrayed Deiphobus,
Her lover, after Alexander died,
And so was reconciled to Menelaus.
DIDO. O, had that ticing strumpet ne'er been born!
Trojan, thy ruthful tale hath made me sad.
Come, let us think upon some pleasing sport
To rid me from these melancholy thoughts.
Enter Venus (with Cupid) at another door,
and takes Ascanius by the sleeve
VENUS. Fair child, stay thou with Dido's waiting maid.
I'll give thee sugar almonds, sweet conserves,
A silver girdle, and a golden purse,
And this young prince shall be thy playfellow.
ASCANIUS. Are you Queen Dido's son?
CUPID. Ay, and my mother gave me this fine bow.
ASCANIUS. Shall I have such a quiver and a bow?
VENUS. Such bow, such quiver, and such golden shafts
Will Dido give to sweet Ascanius.
For Dido's sake I take thee in my arms
And stick these spangled feathers in thy hat.
Eat comfits in mine arms and I will sing.
Now is he fast asleep, and in this grove
Amongst green brakes I'll lay Ascanius
And strew him with sweet smelling violets,
Blushing roses, purple hyacinth.
These milk-white doves shall be his centronels,
Who, if that any seek to do him hurt,
Will quickly fly to Cytherea's fist.
Now, Cupid, turn thee to Ascanius' shape
And go to Dido, who, in stead of him,
Will set thee on her lap and play with thee.
Then touch her white breast with this arrow head,
That she may dote upon Aeneas' love,
And by that means repair his broken ships,
Victual his soldiers, give him wealthy gifts,
And he at last depart to Italy,
Or else in Carthage make his kingly throne.
CUPID. I will, fair mother, and so play my part
As every touch shall wound Queen Dido's heart.
VENUS. Sleep, my sweet nephew, in these cooling shades,
Free from the murmur of these running streams,
The cry of beasts, the rattling of the winds,
Or whisking of these leaves. All shall be still
And nothing interrupt thy quiet sleep
Till I return and take thee hence again.
ACT THREE, SCENE ONE
Enter Cupid solus, disguised as Asconius.
CUPID. Now, Cupid, cause the Carthaginian queen
To be enamoured of thy brother's looks.
Convey this golden arrow in thy sleeve,
Lest she imagine thou art Venus' son,
And when she strokes thee softly on the head,
Then shall I touch her breast and conquer her.
Enter Iarbas, Anna, and Dido.
IARBUS. How long, fair Dido, shall I pine for thee?
'Tis not enough that thou dost grant me love,
But that I may enjoy what I desire.
That love is childish which consists in words.
DIDO. Iarbas, know that thou of all my wooers
(and yet have I had many mightier kings)
Hast had the greatest favours I could give.
I fear me, Dido hath been counted light
In being too familiar with Iarbas,
Albeit the gods do know no wanton thought
Had ever residence in Dido's breast.
IARBUS. But Dido is the favour I request.
DIDO. Fear not, Iarbas; Dido may be thine.
ANNA. Look, sister, how Aeneas' little son
Plays with your garments and embraceth you.
CUPID. No, Dido will not take me in her arms;
I shall not be her son, she loves me not.
DIDO. Weep not, sweet boy; thou shalt be Dido's son.
Sit in my lap, and let me hear thee sing.
No more, my child. Now talk another while,
And tell me where learned'st thou this pretty song.
CUPID. My cousin Helen taught it me in Troy.
DIDO. How lovely is Ascanius when he smiles.
CUPID. Will Dido let me hang about her neck?
DIDO. Ay, wag, and give thee leave to kiss her too.
CUPID. What will you give me now? I'll have this fan.
DIDO. Take it, Ascanius, for thy father's sake.
IARBUS. Come, Dido, leave Ascanius. Let us walk.
DIDO. Go thou away. Ascanius shall stay.
IARBUS. Ungentle queen, is this thy love to me?
DIDO. O stay, Iarbas, and I'll go with thee.
CUPID. And if my mother go, I'll follow her.
DIDO. Why stay'st thou here? Thou art no love of mine.
IARBUS. Iarbas die, seeing she abandons thee.
DIDO. No, live Iarbas. What hast thou deserved,
That I should say thou art no love of mine?
Something thou hast deserved. Away, I say!
Depart from Carthage. Come not in my sight.
IARBUS. Am I not king of rich Gaetulia?
DIDO. Iarbas, pardon me and stay a while.
CUPID. Mother, look here.
DIDO. What tell'st thou me of rich Gaetulia?
Am not I queen of Libya? Then depart.
IARBUS. I go to feed the humour of my love,
Yet not from Carthage for a thousand worlds.
IARBUS. Doth Dido call me back?
DIDO. No; but I charge thee never look on me.
IARBUS. Then pull out both mine eyes, or let me die.
ANNA. Wherefore doth Dido bid Iarbas go?
DIDO. Because his loathsome sight offends mine eye,
And in my thoughts is shrined another love.
O Anna, didst thou know how sweet love were,
Full soon wouldst thou abjure this single life.
ANNA. Poor soul, I know too well the sour of love.
O, that Iarbas could but fancy me!
DIDO. Is not Aeneas fair and beautiful?
ANNA. Yes, and Iarbas foul and favourless.
DIDO. Is he not eloquent in all his speech?
ANNA. Yes, and Iarbas rude and rustical.
DIDO. Name not Iarbas. But sweet Anna, say,
Is not Aeneas worthy Dido's love?
ANNA. O sister, were you empress of the world,
Aeneas well deserves to be your love.
So lovely is he that where'er he goes
The people swarm to gaze him in the face.
DIDO. But tell them none shall gaze on him but I,
Lest their gross eyebeams taint my lover's cheeks.
Anna, good sister Anna, go for him,
Lest with these sweet thoughts I melt clean away.
ANNA. Then, sister, you'll abjure Iarbas' love?
DIDO. Yet must I hear that loathsome name again?
Run for Aeneas, or I'll fly to him.
CUPID. You shall not hurt my father when he comes.
DIDO. No; for thy sake I'll love thy father well.
O dull conceited Dido, that till now
Didst never think Aeneas beautiful!
But now, for quittance of this oversight,
I'll make me bracelets of his golden hair;
His glistering eyes shall be my looking glass,
His lips an altar, where I'll offer up
As many kisses as the sea hath sands.
Instead of music I will hear him speak.
His looks shall be my only library,
And thou, Aeneas, Dido's treasury,
In whose fair bosom I will lock more wealth
Than twenty thousand Indias can afford.
O, here he comes! Love, love, give Dido leave
To be more modest than her thoughts admit,
Lest I be made a wonder to the world.
Enter Aeneas, Achates, Sergestus,
Ilioneus and Cloanthus.
Achates, how doth Carthage please your lord?
ACHATES. That will Aeneas show your majesty.
DIDO. Aeneas, art thou there?
AENEAS. I understand your highness sent for me.
DIDO. No, but now thou art here, tell me, in sooth
In what might Dido highly pleasure thee.
AENEAS. So much have I received at Dido's hands,
As, without blushing, I can ask no more.
Yet, Queen of Afric, are my ships unrigged,
My sails all rent in sunder with the wind,
My oars broken, and my tackling lost,
Yea, all my navy split with rocks and shelves;
Nor stern nor anchor have our maimed fleet;
Our masts the furious winds struck overboard;
Which piteous wants if Dido will supply,
We will account her author of our lives.
DIDO. Aeneas, I'll repair thy Trojan ships,
Conditionally that thou wilt stay with me
And let Achates sail to Italy.
I'll give thee tackling made of rivelled gold,
Wound on the barks of odoriferous trees,
Oars of massy ivory, full of holes
Through which the water shall delight to play.
Thy anchors shall be hewed from crystal rocks
Which, if thou lose, shall shine above the waves;
The masts whereon thy swelling sails shall hang,
Hollow pyramides of silver plate;
The sails of folded lawn, where shall be wrought
The wars of Troy, but not Troy's overthrow.
For ballast, empty Dido's treasury.
Take what ye will, but leave Aeneas here.
Achates, thou shalt be so meanly clad
As sea-borne nymphs shall swarm about thy ships
And wanton mermaids court thee with sweet songs,
Flinging in favours of more sovereign worth
Than Thetis hangs about Apollo's neck,
So that Aeneas may but stay with me.
AENEAS. Wherefore would Dido have Aeneas stay?
DIDO. To war against my bordering enemies.
Aeneas, think not Dido is in love,
For if that any man could conquer me,
I had been wedded ere Aeneas came.
See where the pictures of my suitors hang;
And are not these as fair as fair may be?
ACHATES. I saw this man at Troy, ere Troy was sacked.
AENEAS. I this in Greece when Paris stole fair Helen.
ILIONEUS. This man and I were at Olympus' games.
SERGESTUS. I know this face. He is a Persian born.
I traveled with him to Aetolia.
CLOANTHUS. And I in Athens with this gentleman,
Unless I be deceived, disputed once.
DIDO. But speak, Aeneas; know you none of these?
AENEAS. No, madam, but it seems that these are kings.
DIDO. All these and others which I never saw
Have been most urgent suitors for my love.
Some came in person; others sent their legates;
Yet none obtained me; I am free from all,
And yet, God knows, entangled unto one.
This was an orator and thought by words
To compass me, but yet he was deceived;
And this a Spartan courtier, vain and wild,
But his fantastic humours pleased not me.
This was Alcion, a musician,
But played he ne'er so sweet, I let him go.
This was the wealthy king of Thessaly,
But I had gold enough and cast him off;
This Meleager's son, a warlike prince,
But weapons 'gree not with my tender years.
The rest are such as all the world well knows,
Yet now I swear, by heaven and him I love,
I was as far from love as they from hate.
AENEAS. O, happy shall he be whom Dido loves.
DIDO. Then never say that thou art miserable,
Because it may be thou shalt be my love.
Yet boast not of it, for I love thee not.
And yet I hate thee not. O, if I speak,
I shall betray myself. Aeneas speak.
We two will go ahunting in the woods,
But not so much for thee - thou art but one -
As for Achates and his followers.
ACT THREE, SCENE TWO
Enter Juno to Ascanius, asleep.
JUNO. Here lies my hate, Aeneas' cursed brat,
The boy wherein false destiny delights,
The heir of Fame, the favourite of the Fates,
That ugly imp that shall outwear my wrath
And wrong my deity with high disgrace.
But I will take another order now
And raze th' eternal register of time.
Troy shall no more call him her second hope,
Nor Venus triumph in his tender youth,
For here, in spite of heaven, I'll murder him
And feed infection with his let out life.
Say, Paris, now shall Venus have the ball?
Say, vengeance, now shall her Ascanius die?
O, no! God wot, I cannot watch my time,
Nor quit good turns with double fee down told.
Tut, I am simple, without mind to hurt,
And have no gall at all to grieve my foe,
But lustful Jove and his adulterous child
Shall find it written on confusion's front,
That only Juno rules in Rhamnus' town.
VENUS. What should this mean? My doves are back returned,
Who warn me of such danger prest at hand
To harm my sweet Ascanius' lovely life.
Juno, my mortal foe, what make you here?
Avaunt, old witch, and trouble not my wits.
JUNO. Fie, Venus, that such causeless words of wrath
Should e'er defile so fair a mouth as thine.
Are not we both sprung of celestial race
And banquet as two sisters with the gods?
Why is it then displeasure should disjoin
Whom kindred and acquaintance co-unites?
VENUS. Out, hateful hag! Thou wouldst have slain my son,
Had not my doves discovered thy intent.
But I will tear thy eyes from forth thy head,
And feast the birds with their blood-shotten balls,
If thou but lay thy fingers on my boy.
JUNO. Is this then all the thanks that I shall have
For saving him from snakes' and serpents' stings
That would have killed him, sleeping as he lay?
What though I was offended with thy son,
And wrought him mickle woe on sea and land,
When, for the hate of Trojan Ganymede,
That was advanced by my Hebe's shame,
And Paris' judgment of the heavenly ball,
I mustered all the winds unto his wrack
And urged each element to his annoy.
Yet now I do repent me of his ruth
And wish that I had never wronged him so.
Bootless, I saw, it was to war with fate
That hath so many unresisted friends,
Wherefore I changed my counsel with the time
And planted love where envy erst had sprung.
VENUS. Sister of Jove, if that thy love be such
As these thy protestations do paint forth,
We two as friends one fortune will divide.
Cupid shall lay his arrows in thy lap
And to a sceptre change his golden shafts;
Fancy and modesty shall live as mates
And thy fair peacocks by my pigeons perch.
Love my Aeneas, and desire is thine;
The day, the night, my swans, my sweets, are thine.
JUNO. More than melodious are these words to me,
That overcloy my soul with their content.
Venus, sweet Venus, how may I deserve
Such amorous favours at thy beauteous hand?
But that thou mayst more easily perceive
How highly I do prize this amity,
Hark to a motion of eternal league,
Which I will make in quittance of thy love.
Thy son, thou know'st, with Dido now remains
And feeds his eyes with favours of her court;
She likewise in admiring spends her time
And cannot talk nor think of aught but him.
Why should not they then join in marriage
And bring forth mighty kings to Carthage town,
Whom casualty of sea hath made such friends?
And, Venus, let there be a match confirmed
Betwixt these two whose loves are so alike,
And both our deities, conjoined in one,
Shall chain felicity unto their throne.
VENUS. Well could I like this reconcilement's means,
But much I fear my son will ne'er consent,
Whose armed soul, already on the sea,
Darts forth her light to Lavinia's shore.
JUNO. Fair queen of love, I will divorce these doubts
And find the way to weary such fond thoughts.
This day they both a-hunting forth will ride
Into these woods adjoining to these walls,
When in the midst of all their gamesome sports,
I'll make the clouds dissolve their wat'ry works
And drench Silvanus' dwellings with their showers.
Then in one cave the queen and he shall meet
And interchangeably discourse their thoughts,
Whose short conclusion will seal up their hearts
Unto the purpose which we now propound.
VENUS. Sister, I see you savour of my wiles.
Be it as you will have it for this once.
Meantime Ascanius shall be my charge,
Whom I will bear to Ida in mine arms,
And couch him in Adonis' purple down.
ACT THREE, SCENE THREE
Enter Dido, Aeneas, Anna, Iarbas, Achates,
Cupid (as Ascanius) and followers.
DIDO. Aeneas, think not but I honour thee
That thus in person go with thee to hunt.
My princely robes, thou seest, are laid aside,
Whose glittering pomp Diana's shroud supplies,
All fellows now, disposed alike to sport.
The woods are wide, and we have store of game.
Fair Trojan, hold my golden bow a while
Until I gird my quiver to my side.
Lords, go before. We two must talk alone.
IARBUS. Ungentle, can she wrong Iarbas so?
I'll die before a stranger have that grace.
"We two will talk alone" - what words be these?
DIDO. What makes Iarbas here of all the rest?
We could have gone without your company.
AENEAS. But love and duty led him on perhaps,
To press beyond acceptance to your sight.
IARBUS. Why, man of Troy, do I offend thine eyes?
Or art thou grieved thy betters press so nigh?
DIDO. How now, Gaetulian, are ye grown so brave
To challenge us with your comparisons?
Peasant, go seek companions like thyself,
And meddle not with any that I love.
Aeneas, be not moved at what he says,
For otherwhile he will be out of joint.
IARBUS. Women may wrong by privilege of love,
But should that man of men, (Dido except)
Have taunted me in these opprobrious terms,
I would have either drunk his dying blood,
Or else I would have given my life in gage.
DIDO. Huntsmen, why pitch you not your toils apace
And rouse the lightfoot deer from forth their lair?
ANNA. Sister, see. See Ascanius in his pomp,
Bearing his hunt-spear bravely in his hand.
DIDO. Yea, little son, are you so forward now?
CUPID. Ay, mother, I shall one day be a man,
And better able unto other arms;
Meantime these wanton weapons serve my war,
Which I will break betwixt a lion's jaws.
DIDO. What! Dar'st thou look a lion in the face?
ASCANIUS. Ay, and outface him too, do what he can.
ANNA. How like his father speaketh he in all.
AENEAS. And might I live to see him sack rich Thebes
And load his spear with Grecian princes' heads,
Then would I wish me with Anchises' tomb
And dead to honour that hath brought me up.
IARBUS. And might I live to see thee shipped away
And hoist aloft on Neptune's hideous hills,
Then would I wish me in fair Dido's arms
And dead to scorn that hath pursued me so.
AENEAS. Stout friend, Achates, dost thou know this wood?
ACHATES. As I remember, here you shot the deer
That saved your famished soldiers' lives from death,
When first you set your foot upon the shore,
And here we met fair Venus, virgin-like,
Bearing her bow and quiver at her back.
AENEAS. O, how these irksome labours now delight
And overjoy my thoughts with their escape.
Who would not undergo all kind of toil
To be well stored with such a winter's tale?
DIDO. Aeneas, leave these dumps and let's away
Some to the mountains, some unto the soil,
You to the valleys, - thou (to Iarbus) unto the house.
Exeunt all except Iarbus.
IARBUS. Ay, this it is which wounds me to the death,
To see a Phrygian, far-fet o'er the sea,
Preferred before a man of majesty.
O love! O hate! O cruel women's hearts,
That imitate the moon in every change
And like the planets ever love to range.
What shall I do, thus wronged with disdain?
Revenge me on Aeneas or on her?
On her? Fond man, that were to war 'gainst heaven
And with one shaft provoke ten thousand darts.
This Trojan's end will be thy envy's aim,
Whose blood will reconcile thee to content
And make love drunken with thy sweet desire.
But Dido, that now holdeth him so dear,
Will die with very tidings of his death.
But time will discontinue her content
And mould her mind unto new fancy's shapes.
O God of heaven, turn the hand of Fate
Unto that happy day of my delight!
And then - what then? Iarbas shall but love.
So doth he now, though not with equal gain.
That resteth in the rival of thy pain,
Who ne'er will cease to soar till he be slain.
ACT THREE, SCENE FOUR
The storm. Enter Aeneas and Dido in the cave
at several times.
DIDO. Tell me, dear love, how found you out this cave?
AENEAS. By chance, sweet queen, as Mars and Venus met.
DIDO. Why, that was in a net, where we are loose.
And yet I am not free. Oh, would I were!
AENEAS. Why, what is it that Dido may desire
And not obtain, be it in human power?
DIDO. The thing that I will die before I ask,
And yet desire to have before I die.
AENEAS. It is not aught Aeneas may achieve?
DIDO. Aeneas? No, although his eyes do pierce.
AENEAS. What, hath Iarbas angered her in aught,
And will she be avenged on his life?
DIDO. Not angered me, except in angering thee.
AENEAS. Who, then, of all so cruel may he be
That should detain thy eye in his defects?
DIDO. The man that I do eye where'er I am,
Whose amorous face, like Paean, sparkles fire,
Whenas he butts his beams on Flora's bed.
Prometheus hath put on Cupid's shape,
And I must perish in his burning arms.
Aeneas, O Aeneas, quench these flames.
AENEAS. What ails my queen? Is she fall'n sick of late?
DIDO. Not sick, my love; but sick I must conceal
The torment that it boots me not reveal.
And yet I'll speak. And yet I'll hold my peace.
Do shame her worst, I will disclose my grief.
Aeneas, thou art he. What did I say?
Something it was that now I have forgot.
AENEAS. What means fair Dido by this doubtful speech?
DIDO. Nay, nothing. But Aeneas loves me not.
AENEAS. Aeneas' thoughts dare not ascend so high
As Dido's heart, which monarchs might not scale.
DIDO. It was because I saw no king like thee,
Whose golden crown might balance my content.
But now that I have found what to affect,
I follow one that loveth fame 'fore me,
And rather had seem fair to Sirens' eyes
Than to the Carthage queen that dies for him.
AENEAS. If that your majesty can look so low
As my despised worths that shun all praise,
With this my hand I give to you my heart
And vow by all the gods of hospitality,
By heaven and earth, and my fair brother's bow,
By Paphos, Capys, and the purple sea
From whence my radiant mother did descend,
And by this sword that saved me from the Greeks,
Never to leave these new-upreared walls,
While Dido lives and rules in Juno's town,
Never to like or love any but her.
DIDO. What more than Delian music do I hear,
That calls my soul from forth his living seat
To move unto the measures of delight!
Kind clouds that sent forth such a courteous storm
As made disdain to fly to fancy's lap!
Stout love, in mine arms make thy Italy,
Whose crown and kingdom rests at thy command.
Sichaeus, not Aeneas be thou called.
The King of Carthage, not Anchises' son.
Hold. Take these jewels at thy lover's hand,
These golden bracelets, and this wedding ring
Wherewith my husband wooed me, yet a maid,
And be thou king of Libya by my gift.
Exeunt, to the cave.
ACT FOUR, SCENE ONE
Enter Achates, Cupid (as Ascanius), Iarbas, and Anna.
ACHATES. Did ever men see such a sudden storm,
Or day so clear so suddenly o'ercast?
IARBUS. I think some fell enchantress dwelleth here,
That can call them forth whenas she please
And dive into black tempest's treasury
Whenas she means to mask the world with clouds.
ANNA. In all my life I never knew the like.
It hailed; it snowed; it lightninged all at once.
ACHATES. I think it was the devil's revelling night.
There was such hurly-burly in the heavens.
Doubtless Apollo's axle-tree is cracked,
Or aged Atlas' shoulder out of joint,
The motion was so over-violent.
IARBUS. In all this coil, where have ye left the queen?
ASCANIUS. Nay, where's my warlike father, can you tell?
ANNA. Behold where both of them come forth the cave.
IARBUS. Come forth the cave? Can heaven endure this sight?
Iarbas, curse that unrevenging Jove,
Whose flinty darts slept in Typhoeus' den,
While these adulterers surfeited with sin.
Nature, why mad'st me not some poisonous beast,
That with the sharpness of my edged sting
I might have staked them both unto the earth,
Whilst they were sporting in this darksome cave?
Enter Aeneas and Dido.
AENEAS. The air is clear and southern winds are whist.
Come, Dido, let us hasten to the town,
Since gloomy Aeolus doth cease to frown.
DIDO. Achates and Ascanius, well met.
AENEAS. Fair Anna, how escaped you from the shower?
ANNA. As others did, by running to the wood.
DIDO. But where were you, Iarbas, all this while?
IARBUS. Not with Aeneas in the ugly cave.
DIDO. I see Aeneas sticketh in your mind,
But I will soon put by that stumbling block
And quell those hopes that thus employ your cares.
ACT FOUR, SCENE TWO
Enter Iarbas, to sacrifice.
IARBUS. Come servants, come; bring forth the sacrifice,
That I may pacify that gloomy Jove,
Whose empty altars have enlarged our ills.
Servants bring in the sacrifice, then exeunt.
Eternal Jove, great master of the clouds,
Father of gladness and all frolic thoughts,
That with thy gloomy hand corrects the heaven
When airy creatures war amongst themselves,
Hear, hear, O hear Iarbas' plaining prayers,
Whose hideous echoes make the welkin howl
And all the woods 'Eliza' to resound!
The woman that thou willed us entertain,
Where, straying in our borders up and down,
She craved a hide of ground to build a town,
With whom we did divide both laws and land,
And all the fruits that plenty else sends forth,
Scorning our loves and royal marriage rites,
Yields up her beauty to a stranger's bed,
Who, having wrought her shame, is straightway fled.
Now, if thou beest a pitying god of power,
On whom ruth and compassion ever waits,
Redress these wrongs and warn him to his ships,
That now afflicts me with his flattering eyes.
ANNA. How now, Iarbas! At your prayers so hard?
IARBUS. Ay, Anna. Is there aught you would with me?
ANNA. Nay, no such weighty business of import
But may be slacked until another time.
Yet, if you would partake with me the cause
Of this devotion that detaineth you,
I would be thankful for such courtesy.
IARBUS. Anna, against this Trojan do I pray,
Who seeks to rob me of thy sister's love
And dive into her heart by coloured looks.
ANNA. Alas, poor king, that labours so in vain
For her that so delighteth in thy pain.
Be ruled by me and seek some other love,
Whose yielding heart may yield thee more relief.
IARBUS. Mine eye is fixed where fancy cannot start.
O leave me, leave me to my silent thoughts
That register the numbers of my ruth,
And I will either move the thoughtless flint
Or drop out both mine eyes in drizzling tears,
Before my sorrow's tide have any stint.
ANNA. I will not leave Iarbas, whom I love,
In this delight of dying pensiveness.
Away with Dido! Anna be thy song,
Anna, that doth admire thee more than heaven.
IARBUS. I may nor will list to such loathsome change
That intercepts the course of my desire.
Servants, come fetch these empty vessels here,
For I will fly from these alluring eyes
That do pursue my peace where'er it goes.
ANNA. Iarbas, stay! Loving Iarbas, stay,
For I have honey to present thee with.
Hard-hearted, wilt not deign to hear me speak?
I'll follow thee with outcries ne'ertheless
And strew thy walks with my dishevelled hair.
ACT FOUR, SCENE THREE
Enter Aeneas alone.
AENEAS. Carthage, my friendly host, adieu,
Since destiny doth call me from thy shore.
Hermes this night, descending in a dream,
Hath summoned me to fruitful Italy.
Jove wills it so. My mother wills it so.
Let my Phoenissa grant, and then I go.
Grant she or no, Aeneas must away,
Whose golden fortunes, clogged with courtly ease,
Cannot ascend to fame's immortal house
Or banquet in bright honour's burnished hall,
Till he hath furrowed Neptune's glassy fields
And cut a passage through his topless hills.
Achates, come forth! Sergestus, Ilioneus,
Cloanthus, haste away! Aeneas calls.
Enter Achates, Cloanthus, Sergestus, and Ilioneus.
ACHATES. What wills our lord, or wherefore did he call?
AENEAS. The dreams, (brave mates) that did beset my bed,
When sleep but newly had embraced the night,
Commands me leave these unrenowned realms,
Whereas nobility abhors to stay,
And none but base Aeneas will abide.
Aboard, aboard, since Fates do bid aboard,
And slice the sea with sable-coloured ships,
On whom the nimble winds may all day wait,
And follow them, as footmen, through the deep.
Yet Dido casts her eyes like anchors out,
To stay my fleet from loosing forth the bay.
"Come back, come back," I hear her cry afar,
"And let me link thy body to my lips,
That, tied together by the striving tongues,
We may, as one, sail into Italy."
ACHATES. Banish that 'ticing dame from forth your mouth,
And follow your foreseeing stars in all.
This is no life for men-at-arms to live,
Where dalliance doth consume a soldier's strength,
And wanton motions of alluring eyes
Effeminate our minds, inured to war.
ILIONEUS. Why, let us build a city of our own,
And not stand lingering here for amorous looks.
Will Dido raise old Priam forth his grave
And build the town again the Greeks did burn?
No, no; she cares not how we sink or swim,
So she may have Aeneas in her arms.
CLOANTHUS. To Italy, sweet friends, to Italy!
We will not stay a minute longer here.
AENEAS. Trojans aboard, and I will follow you.
Exeunt all except Aeneas.
I fain would go, yet beauty calls me back.
To leave her so and not once say farewell
Were to transgress against all laws of love,
But if I use such ceremonious thanks
As parting friends accustom on the shore,
Her silver arms will coil me round about
And tears of pearl cry, "Stay, Aeneas, stay."
Each word she says will then contain a crown,
And every speech be ended with a kiss.
I may not 'dure this female drudgery.
To sea, Aeneas! Find out Italy!
ACT FOUR, SCENE FOUR
Enter Dido and Anna.
DIDO. O, Anna, run unto the waterside.
They say Aeneas' men are going aboard;
It may be he will steal away with them.
Stay not to answer me. Run, Anna, run.
O foolish Trojans that would steal from hence
And not let Dido understand their drift.
I would have given Achates store of gold
And Ilioneus gum and Libyan spice,
The common soldiers rich embroidered coats
And silver whistles to control the winds,
Which Circes sent Sichaeus when he lived.
Unworthy are they of a queen's reward.
See where they come. How might I do to chide?
Enter Anna, with Aeneas, Achates,
Ilioneus, and Sergestus.
ANNA. 'Twas time to run. Aeneas had been gone;
The sails were hoisting up and he aboard.
DIDO. Is this thy love to me?
AENEAS. O princely Dido, give me leave to speak.
I went to take my farewell of Achates.
DIDO. How haps Achates bid me not farewell?
ACHATES. Because I feared your grace would keep me here.
DIDO. To rid thee of that doubt, aboard again.
I charge thee put to sea, and stay not here.
ACHATES. Then let Aeneas go aboard with us.
DIDO. Get you aboard. Aeneas means to stay.
AENEAS. The sea is rough. The winds blow to the shore.
DIDO. O false Aeneas! Now the sea is rough,
But when you were aboard, 'twas calm enough.
Thou and Achates meant to sail away.
AENEAS. Hath not the Carthage queen mine only son?
Thinks Dido I will go and leave him here?
DIDO. Aeneas pardon me, for I forgot
That young Ascanius lay with me this night.
Love made me jealous. But, to make amends,
Wear the imperial crown of Libya.
Sway thou the Punic sceptre in my stead,
And punish me, Aeneas, for this crime.
AENEAS. This kiss shall be fair Dido's punishment.
DIDO. O, how a crown becomes Aeneas' head.
Stay here, Aeneas, and command as king.
AENEAS. How vain am I to wear this diadem
And bear this golden sceptre in my hand.
A burgonet of steel and not a crown,
A sword and not a sceptre fits Aeneas.
DIDO. O keep them still, and let me gaze my fill.
Now looks Aeneas like immortal Jove.
O where is Ganymede to hold his cup
And Mercury to fly for what he calls?
Ten thousand Cupids hover in the air
And fan it in Aeneas' lovely face.
O that the clouds were here, wherein thou fleest,
That thou and I unseen might sport ourselves.
Heaven, envious of our joys, is waxen pale,
And when we whisper, then the stars fall down
To be partakers of our honey talk.
AENEAS. O Dido, patroness of all our lives,
When I leave thee, death be my punishment.
Swell, raging seas. Frown, wayward destinies.
Blow winds. Threaten ye rocks and sandy shelves.
This is the harbour that Aeneas seeks.
Let's see what tempests can annoy me now.
DIDO. Not all the world can take thee from mine arms.
Aeneas may command as many moors
As in the sea are little water drops.
And now, to make experience of my love,
Fair sister Anna, lead my lover forth
And, seated on my jennet, let him ride
As Dido's husband through the Punic streets,
And will my guard with Mauritanian darts
To wait upon him as their sovereign lord.
ANNA. What if the citizens repine thereat?
DIDO. Those that dislike what Dido gives in charge,
Command my guard to slay for their offense.
Shall vulgar peasants storm at what I do?
The ground is mine that gives them sustenance,
The air wherein they breathe, the water, fire,
All that they have, their lands, their goods, their lives;
And I, the goddess of all these, command
Aeneas ride as Carthaginian king.
ACHATES. Aeneas, for his parentage, deserves
As large a kingdom as is Libya.
AENEAS. Ay, and unless the destinies be false,
I shall be planted in as rich a land.
DIDO. Speak of no other land. This land is thine.
Dido is thine; henceforth I'll call thee lord.
Do as I bid thee, sister. Lead the way.
And from a turret I'll behold my love.
AENEAS. Then here in me shall flourish Priam's race,
And thou and I, Achates, for revenge
For Troy, for Priam, for his fifty sons,
Our kinsmen's lives, and thousand guiltless souls,
Will lead an host against the hateful Greeks
And fire proud Lacedaemon o'er their heads.
Exeunt all except Dido and a Carthaginian Lord.
DIDO. Speaks not Aeneas like a conqueror?
O blessed tempests that did drive him in!
O happy sand that made him run aground!
Henceforth you shall be our Carthage gods.
Ay, but it may be he will leave my love
And seek a foreign land called Italy.
O that I had a charm to keep the winds
Within the closure of a golden ball,
Or that the Tyrrhene sea were in mine arms,
That he might suffer shipwrack on my breast
As oft as he attempts to hoist up sail,
I must prevent him. Wishing will not serve.
Go, bid my nurse take young Ascanius
And bear him in the country to her house.
Aeneas will not go without his son.
Yet, lest he should, for I am full of fear,
Bring me his oars, his tackling, and his sails.
Exit a Lord.
What if I sink his ships? O, he'll frown.
Better he frown than I should die for grief.
I cannot see him frown; it may not be.
Armies of foes resolved to win this town,
Or impious traitors vowed to have my life,
Affright me not; only Aeneas' frown
Is that which terrifies poor Dido's heart.
Not bloody spears, appearing in the air,
Presage the downfall of my empery,
Nor blazing comets threaten Dido's death;
It is Aeneas' frown that ends my days.
If he forsake me not, I never die,
For in his looks I see eternity,
And he'll make me immortal with a kiss.
Enter a Lord, with Attendants
carrying tackling etc.
LORD. Your nurse is gone with young Ascanius,
And here's Aeneas' tackling, oars, and sails.
DIDO. Are these the sails that, in despite of me,
Packed with the winds to bear Aeneas hence?
I'll hang ye in the chamber where I lie;
Drive if you can my house to Italy.
I'll set the casement open, that the winds
May enter in and once again conspire
Against the life of me, poor Carthage queen.
But though ye go he stays in Carthage still;
And let rich Carthage fleet upon the seas,
So I may have Aeneas in mine arms.
Is this the wood that grew in Carthage plains,
And would be toiling in the wat'ry billows
To rob their mistress of her Trojan guest?
O cursed tree, hadst thou but wit or sense
To measure how I prize Aeneas' love,
Thou wouldst have leaped from out the sailors' hands.
And told me that Aeneas meant to go.
And yet I blame thee not; thou art but wood.
The water, which our poets term a nymph,
Why did it suffer thee to touch her breast
And shrunk not back, knowing my love was there?
The water is an element, no nymph,
Why should I blame Aeneas for his flight?
O Dido, blame not him, but break his oars.
These were the instruments that launched him forth.
There's not so much as this base tackling too,
But dares to heap up sorrow to my heart.
Was it not you that hoisted up these sails?
Why burst you not, and they fell in the seas?
For this will Dido tie ye full of knots
And shear ye all asunder with her hands.
Now serve to chastise shipboys for their faults;
Ye shall no more offend the Carthage queen.
Now let him hang my favours on his masts
And see if those will serve instead of sails.
For tackling, let him take the chains of gold
Which I bestowed upon his followers.
Instead of oars, let him use his hands
And swim to Italy. I'll keep these sure.
Come, bear them in.
ACT FOUR, SCENE FIVE
Enter the nurse with Cupid for Ascanius.
NURSE. My lord Ascanius, ye must go with me.
CUPID. Whither must I go? I'll stay with my mother.
NURSE. No, thou shalt go with me unto my house.
I have an orchard that hath store of plums,
Brown almonds, cerises, ripe figs, and dates,
Dewberries, apples, yellow oranges,
A garden where are beehives full of honey,
Musk roses, and a thousand sort of flowers;
And in the midst doth run a silver stream,
Where thou shalt see the red-gilled fishes leap,
White swans, and many lovely waterfowl.
Now speak, Ascanius, will ye go or no?
CUPID. Come, come, I'll go. How far hence is your house?
NURSE. But hereby, child. We shall get thither straight.
CUPID. Nurse, I am weary; will you carry me?
NURSE. Ay, so you'll dwell with me and call me mother.
CUPID. So you'll love me, I care not if I do.
NURSE. That I might live to see this boy a man!
How prettily he laughs. Go, you wag!
You'll be a twigger when you come to age.
Say Dido what she will, I am not old.
I'll be no more a widow. I am young;
I'll have a husband, or else a lover.
CUPID. A husband, and no teeth?
NURSE. O, what mean I to have such foolish thoughts!
Foolish is love, a toy. O sacred love!
If there be any heaven in earth, 'tis love.
Especially in women of your years.
Blush, blush for shame! Why shouldst thou think of love?
A grave, and not a lover, fits thy age.
A grave? Why? I may live a hundred years;
Fourscore is but a girl's age. Love is sweet.
My veins are withered and my sinews dry.
Why do I think of love, now I should die?
CUPID. Come, nurse.
NURSE. Well, if he come a wooing, he shall speed.
O, how unwise was I to say him nay!
ACT FIVE, SCENE ONE
Enter Aeneas, with a paper in his hand, drawing
the platform of the city; with him Achates,
Cloanthus, and Ilioneus.
AENEAS. Triumph, my mates; our travels are at end.
Here will Aeneas build a statelier Troy
Than that which grim Atrides overthrew.
Carthage shall vaunt her petty walls no more,
For I will grace them with a fairer frame
And clad her in a crystal livery
Wherein the day may evermore delight.
From golden India Ganges will I fetch,
Whose wealthy streams may wait upon her towers
And triple-wise entrench her round about.
The sun from Egypt shall rich odours bring,
Wherewith his burning beams, like labouring bees
That load their thighs with Hybla's honey's spoils,
Shall here unburden their exhaled sweets
And plant our pleasant suburbs with their fumes.
ACHATES. What length or breath shall this brave town contain?
AENEAS. Not past four thousand paces at the most.
ILIONEUS. But what shall it be called? Troy, as before?
AENEAS. That have I not determined with myself.
CLOANTHUS. Let it be termed Aenea, by your name.
SERGESTUS. Rather Ascania, by your little son.
AENEAS. Nay, I will have it called Anchisaeon,
Of my old father's name.
Enter Hermes with Ascanius.
HERMES. Aeneas, stay! Jove's herald bids thee stay.
AENEAS. Whom do I see? Jove's winged messenger?
Welcome to Carthage, new erected town.
HERMES. Why, cousin, stand you building cities here
And beautifying the empire of this queen,
While Italy is clean out of thy mind?
Too, too forgetful of thine own affairs,
Why wilt thou so betray thy son's good hap?
The king of gods sent me from highest heaven
To sound this angry message in thine ears:
Vain man, what monarchy expect'st thou here,
Or with what thought sleep'st thou in Libya shore?
If that all glory hath forsaken thee
And thou despise the praise of such attempts,
Yet think upon Ascanius' prophecy,
And young Iulus' more than thousand years,
Whom I have brought from Ida where he slept,
And bore young Cupid unto Cyprus isle.
AENEAS. This was my mother that beguiled the queen
And made me take my brother for my son.
No marvel, Dido, though thou be in love,
That daily dandlest Cupid in thy arms.
Welcome, sweet child. Where hast thou been this long?
ASCANIUS. Eating sweet comfits with Queen Dido's maid,
Who ever since hath lulled me in her arms.
AENEAS. Sergestus, bear him hence unto our ships,
Lest Dido, spying him, keep him for a pledge. .
Exit Sergestus with Ascanius.
HERMES. Spend'st thou thy time about this little boy,
And giv'st not ear unto the charge I bring?
I tell thee thou must straight to Italy,
Or else abide the wrath of frowning Jove. .
AENEAS. How should I put into the raging deep,
Who have no sails nor tackling for my ships?
What, would the gods have me, Deucalion-like,
Float up and down where'er the billows drive?
Though she repaired my fleet and gave me ships,
Yet hath she ta'en away my oars and masts,
And left me neither sail nor stern aboard. .
Enter to them Iarbas.
IARBUS. How now, Aeneas sad? What means these dumps?
AENEAS. Iarbas, I am clean besides myself.
Jove hath heaped upon me such a desperate charge,
Which neither art nor reason may achieve,
Nor I devise by what means to contrive.
IARBUS. As how, I pray? May I entreat you tell?
AENEAS. With speed he bids me sail to Italy,
Whenas I want both rigging for my fleet
And also furniture for these my men.
IARBUS. If that be all, then cheer thy drooping looks,
For I will furnish thee with such supplies.
Let some of those thy followers go with me,
And they shall have what thing soe'er thou need'st.
AENEAS. Thanks, good Iarbas, for thy friendly aid.
Achates and the rest shall wait on thee,
Whilst I rest thankful for this courtesy.
Exit Iarbas and Aeneas' train.
Now will I haste unto Lavinian shore
And raise a new foundation to old Troy.
Witness the gods, and witness heaven and earth,
How loath I am to leave these Libyan bounds,
But that eternal Jupiter commands. .
Enter Dido, with Attendants, to Aeneas.
DIDO. I fear I saw Aeneas' little son
Led by Achates to the Trojan fleet.
If it be so, his father means to fly.
But here he is. Now, Dido, try thy wit.
Aeneas, wherefore go thy men aboard?
Why are thy ships new rigged? Or to what end,
Launched from the haven, lie they in the road?
Pardon me, though I ask. Love makes me ask.
AENEAS. O, pardon me if I resolve thee why.
Aeneas will not feign with his dear love.
I must from hence. This day, swift Mercury,
When I was laying a platform for these walls,
Sent from his father Jove, appeared to me,
And in his name rebuked me bitterly
For lingering here, neglecting Italy.
DIDO. But yet Aeneas will not leave his love.
AENEAS. I am commanded by immortal Jove
To leave this town and pass to Italy,
And therefore must of force.
DIDO. These words proceed not from Aeneas' heart.
AENEAS. Not from my heart, for I can hardly go.
And yet I may not stay. Dido, farewell.
DIDO. Farewell? Is this the 'mends for Dido's love?
Do Trojans use to quit their lovers thus?
Fare well may Dido, so Aeneas stay;
I die if my Aeneas say farewell.
AENEAS. Then let me go and never say farewell.
DIDO. 'Let me go!', 'Farewell!', 'I must from hence!'
These words are poison to poor Dido's soul.
O speak like my Aeneas, like my love.
Why look'st thou toward the sea? The time hath been
When Dido's beauty chained thine eyes to her.
Am I less fair than when thou saw'st me first?
O, then, Aeneas, 'tis for grief of thee.
Say thou wilt stay in Carthage with thy queen,
And Dido's beauty will return again.
Aeneas, say how canst thou take thy leave?
Wilt thou kiss Dido? O, thy lips have sworn
To stay with Dido. Canst thou take her hand?
Thy hand and mine have plighted mutual faith.
Therefore, unkind Aeneas, must thou say,
"Then let me go, and never say farewell"?
AENEAS. O Queen of Carthage, wert thou ugly black,
Aeneas could not choose but hold thee dear.
Yet must he not gainsay the gods' behest.
DIDO. The gods? What gods be those that seek my death?
Wherein have I offended Jupiter
That he should take Aeneas from mine arms?
O, no! The gods weigh not what lovers do.
It is Aeneas calls Aeneas hence,
And woeful Dido, by these blubbered cheeks,
By this right hand, and by our spousal rites,
Desires Aeneas to remain with her.
Si bene quid de te merui, fuit aut tibi quidquam
Dulce meum, miserere domus labentis, et istam,
Oro, si quis adhuc precibus locus, exue mentem.
[If I was ever kind to you, or if anything about me made you happy,
please, please, if it is not too late to beg you, have pity for the ruin
of a home, and change your mind.]
AENEAS. Desine meque tuis incendere teque querelis;
Italiam non sponte sequor.
[Cease to upset yourself, and me also, with these protests. It is not
by my own choice that I voyage onward to Italy.]
DIDO. Hast thou forgot how many neighbour kings
Were up in arms for making thee my love?
How Carthage did rebel, Iarbas storm,
And all the world calls me a second Helen,
For being entangled by a stranger's looks?
So thou wouldst prove as true as Paris did,
Would, as fair Troy was, Carthage might be sacked,
And I be called a second Helena.
Had I a son by thee, the grief were less,
That I might see Aeneas in his face.
Now if thou go'st, what canst thou leave behind
But rather will augment than ease my woe?
AENEAS. In vain, my love, thou spend'st thy fainting breath.
If words might move me, I were overcome.
DIDO. And wilt thou not be moved with Dido's words?
Thy mother was no goddess, perjured man,
Nor Dardanus the author of thy stock,
But thou art sprung from Scythian Caucasus,
And tigers of Hyrcania gave thee suck.
Ah, foolish Dido, to forbear this long!
Wast thou not wracked upon this Libyan shore,
And cam'st to Dido like a fisher swain?
Repaired not I thy ships, made thee a king,
And all thy needy followers noblemen?
O serpent that came creeping from the shore
And I for pity harboured in my bosom,
Wilt thou now slay me with thy venomed sting
And hiss at Dido for preserving thee?
Go, go, and spare not. Seek out Italy.
I hope that that which love forbids me do,
The rocks and sea-gulfs will perform at large,
And thou shalt perish in the billows' ways,
To whom poor Dido doth bequeath revenge.
Ay, traitor, and the waves shall cast thee up
Where thou and false Achates first set foot.
Which if it chance, I'll give ye burial
And weep upon your lifeless carcasses,
Though thou nor he will pity me a whit.
Why star'st thou in my face? If thou wilt stay,
Leap in mine arms. Mine arms are open wide.
If not, turn from me, and I'll turn from thee,
For though thou hast the heart to say farewell,
I have not power to stay thee.
Is he gone?
Ay, but he'll come again. He cannot go.
He loves me too too well to serve me so.
Yet he that in my sight would not relent
Will, being absent, be obdurate still.
By this is he got to the waterside,
And, see, the sailors take him by the hand,
But he shrinks back, and now, remembering me,
Returns amain. Welcome, welcome, my love!
But where's Aeneas? Ah, he's gone, he's gone! .
ANNA. What means my sister thus to rave and cry?
DIDO. O Anna, my Aeneas is aboard,
And leaving me, will sail to Italy.
Once didst thou go, and he came back again.
Now bring him back, and thou shalt be a queen,
And I will live a private life with him.
ANNA. Wicked Aeneas!
DIDO. Call him not wicked, sister. Speak him fair,
And look upon him with a mermaid's eye.
Tell him, I never vowed at Aulis' gulf
The desolation of his native Troy,
Nor sent a thousand ships unto the walls,
Nor ever violated faith to him.
Request him gently, Anna, to return.
I crave but this. He stay a tide or two,
That I may learn to bear it patiently.
If he depart thus suddenly, I die.
Run, Anna, run. Stay not to answer me.
ANNA. I go, fair sister. Heavens grant good success.
Exit Anna. Enter the Nurse.
NURSE. O Dido, your little son Ascanius
Is gone. He lay with me last night,
And in the morning he was stol'n from me.
I think some fairies have beguiled me.
DIDO. O cursed hag and false dissembling wretch,
That slay'st me with thy harsh and hellish tale,
Thou for some petty gift hast let him go,
And I am thus deluded of my boy.
Away with her to prison presently,
Traitoress too keened and cursed sorceress!
NURSE. I know not what you mean by treason, I.
I am as true as any one of yours.
Exit the Nurse.
DIDO. Away with her. Suffer her not to speak.
My sister comes. I like not her sad looks.
ANNA. Before I came, Aeneas was aboard,
And, spying me, hoist up the sails amain.
But I cried out, "Aeneas, false Aeneas, stay!"
Then 'gan he wag his hand, which yet held up,
Made me suppose he would have heard me speak.
Then 'gan they drive into the ocean,
Which when I viewed, I cried, "Aeneas, stay!
Dido, fair Dido, wills Aeneas stay!"
Yet he, whose heart of adamant or flint,
My tears nor plaints could mollify a whit.
Then carelessly I rent my hair for grief
Which seen to all, though he beheld me not,
They 'gan to move him to redress my ruth
And stay a while to hear what I could say,
But he, clapped under hatches, sailed away.
DIDO. O Anna, Anna, I will follow him.
ANNA. How can you go, when he hath all your fleet?
DIDO. I'll frame me wings of wax like Icarus,
And o'er his ships will soar unto the sun,
That they may melt and I fall in his arms.
Or else I'll make a prayer unto the waves
That I may swim to him like Triton's niece.
O Anna, fetch Arion's harp
That I may tice a dolphin to the shore
And ride upon his back unto my love.
Look, sister, look! Lovely Aeneas' ships!
See, see, the billows heave him up to heaven,
And now down fall the keels into the deep.
O sister, sister, take away the rocks.
They'll break his ships. O Proteus, Neptune, Jove,
Save, save Aeneas, Dido's liefest love.
Now is he come on shore, safe without hurt.
But see, Achates wills him put to sea,
And all the sailors merry make for joy.
But he, remembering me, shrinks back again.
See, where he comes. Welcome, welcome, my love.
ANNA. Ah, sister, leave these idle fantasies.
Sweet sister, cease. Remember who you are.
DIDO. Dido I am, unless I be deceived.
And must I rave thus for a runagate?
Must I make ships for him to sail away?
Nothing can bear me to him but a ship,
And he hath all my fleet. What shall I do
But die in fury of this oversight?
Ay, I must be the murderer of myself.
No, but I am not; yet I will be straight.
Anna be glad. Now have I found a mean
To rid me from these thoughts of lunacy.
Not far from hence
There is a woman famoused for arts,
Daughter unto the nymphs Hesperides,
Who willed me sacrifice his ticing relics.
Go, Anna, bid my servants bring me fire.
Exit Anna. Enter Iarbus.
IARBUS. How long will Dido mourn a stranger's flight,
That hath dishonoured her and Carthage both?
How long shall I with grief consume my days,
And reap no guerdon for my truest love?
Enter Attendants with wood and torches.
DIDO. Iarbas, talk not of Aeneas; let him go.
Lay to thy hands, and help me make a fire
That shall consume all that this stranger left,
For I intend a private sacrifice
To cure my mind that melts for unkind love.
IARBUS. But afterwards, will Dido grant me love?
DIDO. Ay, ay, Iarbas. After this is done,
None in the world shall have my love but thou.
So! Leave me now. Let none approach this place.
Now, Dido, with these relics burn thyself,
And make Aeneas famous through the world
For perjury and slaughter of a queen.
Here lie the sword that in the darksome cave
He drew and swore by to be true to me.
Thou shalt burn first; thy crime is worse than his.
Here lie the garment which I clothed him in
When first he came on shore. Perish thou too.
These letters, lines, and perjured papers all,
Shall burn to cinders in this precious flame.
And now, ye gods, that guide the starry frame
And order all things at your high dispose,
Grant, though the traitors land in Italy,
They may be still tormented with unrest.
And from mine ashes let a conqueror rise,
That may revenge this treason to a queen
By plowing up his countries with the sword.
Betwixt this land and that be never league.
Litora litoribus contraria, fluctibus undas
Imprecor, arma armis; pugnent ipsique nepotes.
[Let your shores oppose their shores, your waves their waves, your arms their
arms. That is my imprecation. Let them fight, they, and their sons' sons, for ever.]
Live, false Aeneas! Truest Dido dies!
Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras.
[Yes, yes; it pleases me to go into the dark.]
Throws herself into the flames.Enter Anna.
ANNA. O, help, Iarbas! Dido in these flames
Hath burnt herself. Ay me, unhappy me!
Enter Iarbus, running
IARBUS. Cursed Iarbas, die to expiate
The grief that tires upon thine inward soul.
Dido, I come to thee. Ay me, Aeneas!
ANNA. What can my tears or cries prevail me now?
Dido is dead, Iarbas slain. Iarbas, my dear love!
O sweet Iarbas, Anna's sole delight.
What fatal destiny envies me thus,
To see my sweet Iarbas slay himself?
But Anna now shall honour thee in death
And mix her blood with thine. This shall I do,
That gods and men may pity this my death
And rue our ends, senseless of life or breath.
Now, sweet Iarbas, stay! I come to thee! .
© This edition and HTML version, Peter Farey, 2001
Based upon an e-text from:
The Complete Works of Christopher Marlowe. Fredson Bowers, ed.
Cambridge, England: The University Press, 1973
Welcome corrections to my original attempt supplied by Michael Blanc.
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