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.
Exit Aeneas.
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! .
Enter Anna.
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.