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