Chapter I: Part 1

The Tudor Facsimile Texts

The Tragedy of Dido Queen of Carthage

Written by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE and THOMAS NASH

1594

_Date of this the earliest known edition_.... 1594

[_Bodleian_]

_Reproduced in Facsimile_.... 1914

The Tudor Facsimile Texts

_Under the Supervision and Editorship of_ JOHN S. FARMER

The Tragedy of Dido Queen of Carthage

Written by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE and THOMAS NASH

1594

_Issued for Subscribers by the Editor of_

THE TUDOR FACSIMILE TEXTS

MCMXIV

The Tragedy of Dido Queen of Carthage

Written by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE and THOMAS NASH

1594

_This play is facsimiled from the Bodley copy. Other examples (says Sir Sidney Lee, but unrecorded by Greg) are at Bridgewater House and at Chatsworth; the Devonshire Collection of Plays has recently been disposed of to an American collector_.

_For other and bibliographical details see D.N.B. I have included in this facsimile the page of manuscript in the Bodley example inasmuch as it contains matter of interest to the student._

_The reproduction from the original was made by The Clarendon Press, Oxford_.

_JOHN S. FARMER_.

[Transcriber's Note: The following paragraphs have been transcribed from a handwritten page. Some text is illegible, and this has been marked with asterisks where appropriate.]

The tragedy of _Dido_ is one of the scarcest plays in the English language. There are but two copies known to be extant; in the possession of D^r Wright and M^r Reed.

M^r Warton speaks in his _Hist. of Eng. Poet_ (III. p. 435) of an Elegy being prefixed to it on the death of Marlowe; but no such is found in either of those copies. In answer to my inquiries on this subject he informed me by letter, [crossed-out text] that a copy of this play was in Osborne's catalogue in the year 1754, that he then saw it in his shop (together with several of M^r Oldys's books that Osborne had purchased), + that the elegy in question--"on Marlowe's untimely death" was inserted immediately after the title page; that it mentioned a play of Marlowe's entitled _The Duke of Guise_ and four others; but whether particularly by _name_, he could not recollect. Unluckily he did not purchase this rare piece, + it is now God knows where.

Bishop Tanner likewise mentions this elegy in so particular a manner that he must have seen it. "Marlovius (Christopherus), quondam in academia Cantabrigiensi musarum alumnus; postea actor scenicus; deinde poeta dramaticus tragicus, paucis inferior Scripsit plurimas tragedias, sc. Tamerlane.-Tragedie of Dido Queen of Carthage. Pr. Come gentle Ganymed. Hanc perfecit + edidit Tho. Nash Lond. 1594. 4^to.--Petrarius in præfatione ad Secundam partem Herois et Leandri multa in Marlovii commendationem adfert; hoc etiam facit Tho. Nash in _Carmine Elegiaco Tragidiæ Didonis præfiso in obitum Christop. Marlovii_, ubi quatuor ejus tragidiarum mentionem facit, nec non et alterius _de duce Guisio_." _Bib. Britan._ 1740.

I suspect M^r Warton had no other authority than this for saying that this play was left imperfect by Marlowe, and completed + published by Nashe; for it does not appear from the title page that it was not written in conjunction by him + Marlowe in the lifetime of the former. Perhaps Nashe's Elegy might ascertain this point. Tanner had, I believe, no authority but Philipses, for calling Marlowe an actor.

There was an old Latin play on the subject of Dido, written by John Rightwise and played before Cardinal Wolsey + again before Queen Elizabeth in 1564. There is also another Latin play on this subject _Dido_, tragedia nova so quatuor pri*ibus *** **************** Virgilii disampla Antwerp ed, 1559.

THE Tragedie of Dido _Queene of Carthage:_

Played by the Children of her _Maiesties Chappell._

Written by Christopher Marlowe, and _Thomas Nash. Gent._

Actors

_Iupiter._ _Ascanius._ _Ganimed._ _Dido._ _Venus._ _Anna._ _Cupid._ _Achates._ _Iuno._ _Ilioneus._ _Mercurie._ _Iarbas._ _Hermes._ _Cloanthes._ _Æneas._ _Sergestus._

AT LONDON,

Printed, by the Widdowe _Orwin_, for _Thomas Woodcocke_, and are to be solde at his shop, in Paules Church-yeard, at the signe of the blacke Beare. 1594.

The Tragedie of _Dido_ Queene _of Carthage._

_Here the Curtaines draw, there is discovered_ Iupiter _dandling_ Ganimed _upon his knee, and_ Mercury _lying asleepe_.

_Iup._ Come gentle _Ganimed_ and play with me, I loue thee well, say _Iuno_ what she will.

_Gan._ I am much better for your worthles loue, That will not shield me from her shrewith blowes: To day when as I fild into your cups, And held the cloath of pleasance whiles you dranke, She reacht me such a rap for that I spilde, As made the bloud run downe about mine eares.

_Iup._ What? dares she strike the darling of my thoughts? By _Saturnes_ soule, and this earth threatning aire, That shaken thrise, makes Natures buildings quake, I vow, if she but once frowne on thee more, To hang her meteor like twixt heauen and earth, And bind her hand and foote with golden cordes, As once I did for harming _Hercules_.

_Gan._ Might I but see that pretie sport a foote, O how would I with _Helens_ brother laugh, And bring the Gods to wonder at the game: Sweet _Iupiter_, if ere I pleasde thine eye, Or seemed faire walde in with Egles wings, Grace my immortall beautie with this boone, And I will spend my time in thy bright armes.

_Iup._ What ist sweet wagge I should deny thy youth? Whose face reflects such pleasure to mine eyes, As I exhal'd with thy fire darting beames, Haue oft driuen backe the horses of the night. When as they would haue hal'd thee from my sight: Sit on my knee, and call for thy content, Controule proud Fate, and cut the thred of time, Why are not all the Gods at thy commaund, And heauen and earth the bounds of thy delight? _Vulcan_ shall daunce to make thee laughing sport, And my nine Daughters sing when thou art sad, From _Iunos_ bird Ile pluck her spotted pride, To make thee fannes wherewith to coole thy face, And _Venus_ Swannes shall shed their siluer downe, To sweeten out the slumbers of thy bed: _Hermes_ no more shall shew the world his wings, If that thy fancie in his feathers dwell, But as this one Ile teare them all from him, Doe thou but say their colour pleaseth me: Hold here my little loue these linked gems, My _Iuno_ ware vpon her marriage day, Put thou about thy necke my owne sweet heart, And tricke thy armes and shoulders with my theft.

_Gan._ I would haue a iewell for mine eare, And a fine brouch to put in my hat, And then Ile hugge with you an hundred times.

_Iup._ And shall haue _Ganimed_, if thou wilt be my loue.

_Enter Venus._

_Venus._ I this is it, you can sit toying there, And playing with that female wanton boy, Whiles my _Æneas_ wanders on the Seas, And rests a pray to euery billowes pride. _Iuno_, false _Iuno_ in her Chariots pompe, Drawne through the heauens by Steedes of _Boreas_ brood, Made _Hebe_ to direct her ayrie wheeles Into the windie countrie of the clowdes, Where finding _Æolus_ intrencht with stormes, And guarded with a thousand grislie ghosts, She humbly did beseech him for our bane, And charg'd him drowne my sonne with all his traine. Then gan the windes breake ope their brazen doores, And all _Æolia_ to be vp in armes: Poore _Troy_ must now be sackt vpon the Sea, And _Neptunes_ waues be enuious men of warre, _Epeus_ horse to _Ætnas_ hill transformd, Prepared stands to wracke their woodden walles, And _Æolus_ like _Agamemnon_ sounds The surges, his fierce souldiers to the spoyle: See how the night _Ulysses_-like comes forth, And intercepts the day as _Dolon_ erst: Ay me! the Starres supprisde like _Rhesus_ Steedes, Are drawne by darknes forth _Astræus_ tents. What shall I doe to saue thee my sweet boy? When as the waues doe threat our Chrystall world, And _Proteus_ raising hils of flouds on high, Entends ere long to sport him in the skie. False _Iupiter_, rewardst thou vertue so? What? is not pietie exempt from woe? Then dye _Æneas_ in thine innocence, Since that religion hath no recompence.

_Iup._ Content thee _Cytherea_ in thy care, Since thy _Æneas_ wandring fate is firme, Whose wearie lims shall shortly make repose, In those faire walles I promist him of yore: But first in bloud must his good fortune bud, Before he be the Lord of _Turnus_ towne, Or force her smile that hetherto hath frownd: Three winters shall he with the Rutiles warre, And in the end subdue them with his sword, And full three Sommers likewise shall he waste, In mannaging those fierce barbarian mindes: Which once performd, poore _Troy_ so long supprest, From forth her ashes shall aduance her head, And flourish once againe that erst was dead: But bright _Ascanius_ beauties better worke, Who with the Sunne deuides one radiant shape, Shall build his throne amidst those starrie towers, That earth-borne _Atlas_ groning vnderprops: No bounds but heauen shall bound his Emperie, Whose azured gates enchased with his name, Shall make the morning halt her gray vprise, To feede her eyes with his engrauen fame. Thus in stoute _Hectors_ race three hundred yeares, The Romane Scepter royall shall remaine, Till that a Princesse priest conceau'd by _Mars_, Shall yeeld to dignitie a dubble birth, Who will eternish _Troy_ in their attempts.

_Venus._ How may I credite these thy flattering termes, When yet both sea and sands beset their ships, And _Phœbus_ as in stygian pooles, refraines To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhen maine?

_Iup._ I will take order for that presently: _Hermes_ awake, and haste to _Neptunes_ realme, Whereas the Wind-god warring now with Fate, Besiege the ofspring of our kingly loynes, Charge him from me to turne his stormie powers, And fetter them in _Vulcans_ sturdie brasse, That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsmans peace. _Venus_ farewell, thy sonne shall be our care: Come _Ganimed_, we must about this geare.

_Exeunt Iupiter cum Ganimed._

_Venus._ Disquiet Seas lay downe your swelling lookes, And court _Æneas_ with your calmie cheere, Whose beautious burden well might make you proude, Had not the heauens conceau'd with hel-borne clowdes, Vaild his resplendant glorie from your view, For my sake pitie him _Oceanus_, That erst-while issued from thy watrie loynes, And had my being from thy bubling froth: _Triton_ I know hath fild his trumpe with _Troy_, And therefore will take pitie on his toyle, And call both _Thetis_ and _Cimodoæ_, To succour him in this extremitie.

_Enter Æneas with Ascanius, with one or two more._

What? doe I see my sonne now come on shoare: _Venus_, how art thou compast with content, The while thine eyes attract their sought for ioyes: Great _Iupiter_, still honourd maist thou be, For this so friendly ayde in time of neede. Here in this bush disguised will I stand, Whiles my _Æneas_ spends himselfe in plaints, And heauen and earth with his vnrest acquaints.

_Æn._ You sonnes of care, companions of my course, _Priams_ misfortune followes vs by sea, And _Helens_ rape doth haunt thee at the heeles. How many dangers haue we ouer past? Both barking _Scilla_, and the sounding Rocks, The _Cyclops_ shelues, and grim _Ceranias_ seate Haue you oregone, and yet remaine aliue! Pluck vp your hearts, since fate still rests our friend, And chaunging heauens may those good daies returne, Which _Pergama_ did vaunt in all her pride.

_Acha._ Braue Prince of _Troy_, thou onely art our God, That by thy vertues freest vs from annoy, And makes our hopes suruiue to cunning ioyes: Doe thou but smile, and clowdie heauen will cleare, Whose night and day descendeth from thy browes: Though we be now in extreame miserie, And rest the map of weatherbeaten woe: Yet shall the aged Sunne shed forth his aire, To make vs liue vnto our former heate, And euery beast the forrest doth send forth, Bequeath her young ones to our scanted foode.

_Asca._ Father I faint, good father giue me meate.

_Æn._ Alas sweet boy, thou must be still a while, Till we haue fire to dresse the meate we kild: Gentle _Achates_, reach the Tinder boxe, That we may make a fire to warme vs with, And rost our new found victuals on this shoare.

_Venus._ See what strange arts necessitie findes out, How neere my sweet _Æneas_ art thou driuen?

_Æn._ Hold, take this candle and goe light a fire, You shall haue leaues and windfall bowes enow Neere to these woods, to rost your meate withall: _Ascanius_, goe and drie thy drenched lims, Whiles I with my _Achates_ roaue abroad, To know what coast the winde hath driuen vs on, Or whether men or beasts inhabite it.

_Acha._ The ayre is pleasant, and the soyle most fit For Cities, and societies supports: Yet much I maruell that I cannot finde, No steps of men imprinted in the earth.

_Venus._ Now is the time for me to play my part: Hoe yong men, saw you as you came Any of all my Sisters wandring here? Hauing a quiuer girded to her side, And cloathed in a spotted Leopards skin.

_Æn._ I neither saw nor heard of any such: But what may I faire Virgin call your name? Whose lookes set forth no mortall forme to view, Nor speech bewraies ought humaine in thy birth, Thou art a Goddesse that delud'st our eyes, And shrowdes thy beautie in this borrowd shape; But whether thou the Sunnes bright Sister be, Or one of chast _Dianas_ fellow Nimphs, Liue happie in the height of all content, And lighten our extreames with this one boone, As to instruct us vnder what good heauen We breathe as now, and what this world is calde, On which by tempests furie we are cast, Tell vs, O tell vs that are ignorant, And this right hand shall make thy Altars crack With mountaine heapes of milke white Sacrifize.

_Venus._ Such honour, stranger, doe I not affect: It is the vse for Turen maides to weare Their bowe and quiuer in this modest sort, And suite themselues in purple for the nonce, That they may trip more lightly ore the lawndes, And ouertake the tusked Bore in chase. But for the land whereof thou doest enquire, It is the punick kingdome rich and strong, Adioyning on _Agenors_ stately towne, The kingly seate of Southerne _Libia_, Whereas Sidonian _Dido_ rules as Queene. But what are you that aske of me these things? Whence may you come, or whither will you goe?

_Æn._ Of _Troy_ am I, _Æneas_ is my name, Who driuen by warre from forth my natiue world, Put sailes to sea to seeke out _Italy_; And my diuine descent from sceptred _Iove_, With twise twelue Phrigian ships I plowed the deepe, And made that way my mother _Venus_ led: But of them all scarce seuen doe anchor safe, And they so wrackt and weltred by the waues, As euery tide tilts twixt their oken sides: And all of them vnburdened of their loade, Are ballassed with billowes watrie weight. But haples I, God wot, poore and vnknowne, Doe trace these Libian deserts all despisde, Exild forth _Europe_ and wide _Asia_ both, And haue not any couerture but heauen.

_Venus._ Fortune hath fauord thee what ere thou be, In sending thee vnto this curteous Coast: A Gods name on and hast thee to the Court, Where _Dido_ will receiue ye with her smiles: And for thy ships which thou supposest lost, Not one of them hath perisht in the storme, But are ariued safe not farre from hence: And so I leaue thee to thy fortunes lot, Wishing good lucke vnto thy wandring steps. _Exit_.

_Æn._ _Achates_, tis my mother that is fled, I know her by the mouings of her feete: Stay gentle _Venus_, flye not from thy sonne, Too cruell, why wilt thou forsake me thus? Or in these shades deceiu'st mine eye so oft? Why talke we not together hand in hand? And tell our griefes in more familiar termes: But thou art gone and leau'st me here alone, To dull the ayre with my discoursiue moane. _Exit_.

_Enter Illioneus, and Cloanthes._

_Illio._ Follow ye Troians, follow this braue Lord, And plaine to him the summe of your distresse.

_Iar._ Why, what are you, or wherefore doe you sewe?

_Illio._ Wretches of _Troy_, enuied of the windes, That craue such fauour at your honors feete, As poore distressed miserie may pleade: Saue, saue, O saue our ships from cruell fire, That doe complaine the wounds of thousand waues, And spare our liues whom euery spite pursues. We come not we to wrong your Libian Gods, Or steale your houshold lares from their shrines: Our hands are not prepar'd to lawles spoyle, Nor armed to offend in any kind: Such force is farre from our vnweaponed thoughts, Whose fading weale of victorie forsooke, Forbids all hope to harbour neere our hearts.

_Iar._ But tell me Troians, Troians if you be, Vnto what fruitfull quarters were ye bound, Before that _Boreas_ buckled with your sailes?

_Cloan._ There is a place _Hesperia_ term'd by vs, An ancient Empire, famoused for armes, And fertile in faire _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 gloomie _Orion_ rose, And led our ships into the shallow sands, Whereas the Southerne winde with brackish breath, Disperst them all amongst the wrackfull Rockes: From thence a fewe of vs escapt to land, The rest we feare are foulded in the flouds.

_Iar._ Braue men at armes, abandon fruitles feares, Since Carthage knowes to entertaine distresse.

_Serg._ I but the barbarous sort doe threat our ships, And will not let vs lodge vpon the sands: In multitudes they swarme vnto the shoare, And from the first earth interdict our feete.

_Iar._ My selfe will see they shall not trouble ye, Your men and you shall banquet in our Court, And euery Troian be as welcome here, As _Iupiter_ to sillie _Vausis_ house: Come in with me, Ile bring you to my Queene, Who shall confirme my words with further deedes.

_Serg._ Thankes gentle Lord for such vnlookt for grace, Might we but once more see _Æneas_ face, Then would we hope to quite such friendly turnes, As shall surpasse the wonder of our speech.

Actus 2.

_Enter Æneas, Achates, and Ascanius._

_Æn._ Where am I now? these should be Carthage walles.

_Acha._ Why stands my sweete _Æneas_ thus amazde?

_Æn._ O my _Achates_, Theban _Niobe_, Who for her sonnes death wept out life and breath, And drie with griefe was turnd into a stone, Had not such passions in her head as I. Me thinkes that towne there should be _Troy_, yon _Idas_ hill, There _Zanthus_ streame, because here's _Priamus_, And when I know it is not, then I dye.

_Ach._ And in this humor is _Achates_ to, I cannot choose but fall vpon my knees, And kisse his hand: O where is _Hecuba_, Here she was wont to sit, but sauing ayre Is nothing here, and what is this but stone?

_Æn._ O yet this stone doth make _Æneas_ weepe, And would my prayers (as _Pigmalions_ did) Could giue it life, that vnder his conduct We might saile backe to _Troy_ and be reuengde On these hard harted Grecians; which reioyce That nothing now is left of _Priamus_: O _Priamus_ is left and this is he, Come, come abourd, pursue the hatefull Greekes.

_Acha._ What means _Æneas_?

_Æn._ _Achates_ though mine eyes say this is stone, Yet thinkes my minde that this is _Priamus_: And when my grieued heart sighes and sayes no, Then would it leape out to giue _Priam_ life: O were I not at all so thou mightst be. _Achates_, see King _Priam_ wags his hand, He is aliue, _Troy_ is not ouercome.

_Ach._ Thy mind _Æneas_ that would haue it so Deludes thy eye sight, _Priamus_ is dead.

_Æn._ Ah _Troy_ is sackt, and _Priamus_ is dead, And why should poore _Æneas_ be aliue?

_Asca._ Sweete father leaue to weepe, this is not he: For were it _Priam_ he would smile on me.

_Acha._ _Æneas_ see here come the Citizens, Leaue to lament lest they laugh at our feares.

_Enter Cloanthus, Sergestus, Illioneus._

_Æn._ Lords of this towne, or whatsoeuer stile Belongs vnto your name, vouchsafe of ruth To tell vs who inhabits this faire towne, What kind of people, and who gouernes them: For we are strangers driuen on this shore, And scarcely know within what Clime we are.

_Illio._ I heare _Æneas_ voyce, but see him not, For none of these can be our Generall.

_Acha._ Like _Illioneus_ speakes this Noble man, But _Illioneus_ goes not in such robes.

_Serg._ You are _Achates_, or I deciu'd.

_Acha._ _Æneas_ see _Sergestus_ or his ghost.

_Illio._ He meanes _Æneas_, let vs kisse his feete.

_Cloan._ It is our Captaine, see _Ascanius_.

_Serg._ Liue long _Æneas_ and _Ascanius_.

_Æn._ _Achates_, speake, for I am ouerioyed.

_Acha._ O _Illioneus_, art thou yet aliue?

_Illio._ Blest be the time I see _Achates_ face.

_Cloan._ Why turnes _Æneas_ from his trustie friends?

_Æn._ _Sergestus_, _Illioneus_ and the rest, Your sight amazde me, O what destinies Haue brought my sweete companions in such plight? O tell me, for I long to be resolu'd.

_Illio._ Louely _Æneas_, these are Carthage walles, And here Queene _Dido_ weares th'imperiall Crowne, Who for _Troyes_ sake hath entertaind vs all, And clad vs in these wealthie robes we weare. Oft hath she askt vs vnder whom we seru'd, And when we told her she would weepe for griefe, Thinking the sea had swallowed vp thy ships, And now she sees thee how will she reioyce?

_Serg._ See where her seruitors passe through the hall Bearing a banket, _Dido_ is not farre.

_Illio._ Looke where she comes: _Æneas_ viewd her well.

_Æn._ Well may I view her, but she sees not me.

_Enter Dido and her traine._

_Dido._ What stranger art thou that doest eye me thus?

_Æn._ Sometime I was a Troian mightie Queene: But _Troy_ is not, what shall I say I am?

_Illio._ Renowmed _Dido_, tis our Generall: warlike _Æneas_.

_Dido._ Warlike _Æneas_, and in these base robes? Goe fetch the garment which _Sicheus_ ware: Braue Prince, welcome to Carthage and to me, Both happie that _Æneas_ is our guest: Sit in this chaire and banquet with a Queene, _Æneas_ is _Æneas_, were he clad In weedes as bad as euer _Irus_ ware.

_Æn._ This is no seate for one thats comfortles, May it please your grace to let _Æneas_ waite: For though my birth be great, my fortunes meane, Too meane to be companion to a Queene.

_Dido._ Thy fortune may be greater then thy birth, Sit downe _Æneas_, sit in _Didos_ place, And if this be thy sonne as I suppose, Here let him sit, be merrie louely child.

_Æn._ This place beseemes me not, O pardon me.

_Dido._ Ile haue it so, _Æneas_ be content.

_Asca._ Madame, you shall be my mother.

_Dido._ And so I will sweete child: be merrie man, Heres to thy better fortune and good starres.

_Æn._ In all humilitie I thanke your grace.

_Dido._ Remember who thou art, speake like thy selfe, Humilitie belongs to common groomes.

_Æn._ And who so miserable as _Æneas_ is?

_Dido._ Lyes it in _Didos_ hands to make thee blest, Then be assured thou art not miserable.

_Æn._ O _Priamus_, O _Troy_, oh _Hecuba_!

_Dido._ May I entreate thee to discourse at large, And truely to how _Troy_ was ouercome: For many tales goe of that Cities fall, And scarcely doe agree vpon one poynt: Some say _Antenor_ did betray the towne, Others report twas _Sinons_ periurie: But all in this that _Troy_ is ouercome, And _Priam_ dead, yet how we heare no newes.

_Æn._ A wofull tale bids _Dido_ to vnfould, Whose memorie like pale deaths stony mace, Beates forth my senses from this troubled soule, And makes _Æneas_ sinke at _Didos_ feete.

_Dido._ What faints _Æneas_ to remember _Troy_? In whose defence he fought so valiantly: Looke vp and speake.

_Æn._ Then speake _Æneas_ with _Achilles_ tongue, And _Dido_ and you Carthaginian Peeres Heare me, but yet with _Mirmidons_ harsh eares, Daily inur'd to broyles and Massacres, Lest you be mou'd too much with my sad tale. The Grecian souldiers tired with ten yeares warre; Began to crye, let vs vnto our ships, _Troy_ is inuincible, why stay we here? With whose outcryes _Atrides_ being apal'd, Summoned the Captaines to his princely tent, Who looking on the scarres we Troians gaue, Seeing the number of their men decreast, And the remainder weake and out of heart, Gaue vp their voyces to dislodge the Campe, And so in troopes all marcht to _Tenedos_: Where when they came, _Vlysses_ on the sand Assayd with honey words to turne them backe: And as he spoke to further his entent, The windes did driue huge billowes to the shoare, And heauen was darkned with tempestuous clowdes: Then he alleag'd the Gods would haue them stay, And prophecied _Troy_ should be ouercome: And therewithall he calde false _Sinon_ forth, A man compact of craft and periurie, Whose ticing tongue was made of _Hermes_ pipe, To force an hundred watchfull eyes to sleepe: And him _Epeus_ hauing made the horse, With sacrificing wreathes vpon his head, _Vlysses_ sent to our vnhappie towne: Who groueling in the mire of _Zanthus_ bankes, His hands bound at his back, and both his eyes Turnd vp to heauen as one resolu'd to dye, Our Phrigian shepherd haled within the gates, And brought vnto the Court of _Priamus_: To whom he vsed action so pitifull, Lookes so remorcefull, vowes so forcible, As therewithall the old man ouercome, Kist him, imbrast him, and vnloosde his bands, And then, O _Dido_ pardon me.

_Dido._ Nay leaue not here, resolue me of the rest.

_Æn._ O th'inchaunting words of that base slaue, Made him to thinke _Epeus_ pine-tree Horse A sacrifize t'appease _Mineruas_ wrath: The rather for that one _Laocoon_ Breaking a speare vpon his hollow breast, Was with two winged Serpents stung to death. Whereat agast, we were commanded straight With reuerence to draw it into _Troy_. In which vnhappie worke was I employd, These hands did helpe to hale it to the gates, Through which it could not enter twas so huge. O had it neuer entred, _Troy_ had stood. But _Priamus_ impatient of delay, Inforst a wide breach in that rampierd wall, Which thousand battering Rams could neuer pierce, And so came in this fatall instrument: At whose accursed feete as ouerioyed, We banquetted till ouercome with wine, Some surfetted, and others soundly slept. Which _Sinon_ viewing, causde the Greekish spyes To hast to _Tenedos_ and tell the Campe: Then he vnlockt the Horse, and suddenly From out his entrailes, _Neoptolemus_ Setting his speare vpon the ground, leapt forth, And after him a thousand Grecians more, In whose sterne faces shin'd the quenchles fire, That after burnt the pride of _Asia_. By this the Campe was come vnto the walles, And through the breach did march into the streetes, Where meeting with the rest, kill kill they cryed. Frighted with this confused noyse, I rose, And looking from a turret, might behold Yong infants swimming in their parents bloud, Headles carkasses piled vp in heapes, Virgins halfe dead dragged by their golden haire, And with maine force flung on a ring of pikes, Old men with swords thrust through their aged sides, Kneeling for mercie to a Greekish lad, Who with steele Pol-axes dasht out their braines. Then buckled I mine armour, drew my sword, And thinking to goe downe, came _Hectors_ ghost With ashie visage, blewish, sulphure eyes, His armes torne from his shoulders, and his breast Furrowd with wounds, and that which made me weepe, Thongs at his heeles, by which _Achilles_ horse Drew him in triumph through the Greekish Campe, Burst from the earth, crying, _Æneas_ flye, _Troy_ is a fire, the Grecians haue the towne,

_Dido._ O _Hector_ who weepes not to heare thy name?

_Æn._ Yet flung I forth, and desperate of my life, Ran in the thickest throngs, and with this sword Sent many of their sauadge ghosts to hell. At last came _Pirrhus_ fell and full of ire. His harnesse dropping bloud, and on his speare The mangled head of _Priams_ yongest sonne, And after him his band of Mirmidons, With balles of wilde fire in their murdering pawes, Which made the funerall flame that burnt faire _Troy_: All which hemd me about, crying, this is he.

_Dido._ Ah, how could poore _Æneas_ scape their hands?

_Æn._ My mother _Venus_ iealous of my health, Conuaid me from their crooked nets and bands: So I escapt the furious _Pirrhus_ wrath: Who then ran to the pallace of the King, And at _Ioues_ Altar finding _Priamus_, About whose withered necke hung _Hecuba_, Foulding his hand in hers, and ioyntly both Beating their breasts and falling on the ground, He with his faulchions poynt raisde vp at once, And with _Megeras_ eyes stared in their face, Threatning a thousand deaths at euery glaunce. To whom the aged King thus trembling spoke: _Achilles_ sonne, remember what I was, Father of fiftie sonnes, but they are slaine, Lord of my fortune, but my fortunes turnd, King of this Citie, but my _Troy_ is fired, And now am neither father, Lord, nor King: Yet who so wretched but desires to liue? O let me liue, great _Neoptolemus_, Not mou'd at all, but smiling at his teares, This butcher whil'st his hands were yet held vp, Treading vpon his breast, strooke off his hands.

_Dido._ O end _Æneas_, I can heare no more.

_Æn._ At which the franticke Queene leapt on his face, And in his eyelids hanging by the nayles, A little while prolong'd her husbands life: At last the souldiers puld her by the heeles, And swong her howling in the emptie ayre, Which sent an eccho to the wounded King: Whereat he lifted vp his bedred lims, And would haue grappeld with _Achilles_ sonne, Forgetting both his want of strength and hands, Which he disdaining whiskt his sword about, And with the wound thereof the King fell downe: Then from the nauell to the throat at once, He ript old _Priam_: at whose latter gaspe _Ioues_ marble statue gan to bend the brow, As lothing _Pirrhus_ for this wicked act: Yet he vndaunted tooke his fathers flagge, And dipt it in the old Kings chill cold bloud, And then in triumph ran into the streetes, Through which he could not passe for slaughtred men: So leaning on his sword he stood stone still, Viewing the fire wherewith rich _Ilion_ burnt. By this I got my father on my backe, This yong boy in mine armes, and by the hand Led faire _Creusa_ my beloued wife, When thou _Achates_ with thy sword mad'st way, And we were round inuiron'd with the Greekes: O there I lost my wife: and had not we Fought manfully, I had not told this tale: Yet manhood would not serue, of force we fled, And as we went vnto our ships, thou knowest We sawe _Cassandra_ sprauling in the streetes, Whom _Aiax_ rauisht in _Dianas_ Fawne, Her cheekes swolne with sighes, her haire all rent, Whom I tooke vp to beare vnto our ships; But suddenly the Grecians followed vs, And I alas, was forst to let her lye. Then got we to our ships, and being abourd, _Polixena_ cryed out, _Æneas_ stay, The Greekes pursue me, stay and take me in. Moued with her voyce, I lept into the sea, Thinking to beare her on my backe abourd: For all our ships were launcht into the deepe, And as I swomme, she standing on the shoare, Was by the cruell Mirmidons surprizd, And after by that _Pirrhus_ sacrifizde.

_Dido._ I dye with melting ruth, _Æneas_ leaue.

_Anna._ O what became of aged _Hecuba_?

_Iar._ How got _Æneas_ to the fleete againe?

_Dido._ But how scapt _Helen_, she that causde this warre?

_Æn._ _Achates_ speake, sorrow hath tired me quite.

_Acha._ What happened to the Queene we cannot shewe, We heare they led her captiue into Greece, As for _Æneas_ he swomme quickly backe, And _Helena_ betraied _Diiphobus_ Her Louer, after _Alexander_ dyed, And so was reconcil'd to _Menelaus_.

_Dido._ O had that ticing strumpet nere been borne: Troian, thy ruthfull tale hath made me sad: Come let vs thinke vpon some pleasing sport, To rid me from these melancholly thoughts.

_Exeunt omnes._

_Enter Venus at another doore, and takes Ascanius by the sleeve._

_Venus._ Faire child stay thou with _Didos_ waiting maide, Ile giue thee Sugar-almonds, sweete Conserues, A siluer girdle, and a golden purse, And this yong Prince shall be thy playfellow.

_Asca._ Are you Queene _Didos_ sonne?

_Cupid._ I, and my mother gaue me this fine bow.

_Asca._ Shall I haue such a quiuer and a bow?

_Venus._ Such bow, such quiuer, and such golden shafts, Will _Dido_ giue to sweete _Ascanius_: For _Didos_ sake I take thee in my armes, And sticke these spangled feathers in thy hat, Eate Comfites in mine armes, and I will sing. Now is he fast asleepe, and in this groue Amongst greene brakes Ile lay _Ascanius_, And strewe him with sweete smelling Violets, Blushing Roses, purple _Hyacinthe_: These milke white Doues shall be his Centronels: Who if that any seeke to doe him hurt, Will quickly flye to _Citheidas_ fist. Now _Cupid_ turne thee to _Ascanius_ shape, And goe 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 vpon _Æneas_ loue: And by that meanes repaire his broken ships, Victuall his Souldiers, giue him wealthie gifts, And he at last depart to _Italy_, Or els in _Carthage_ make his kingly throne.

_Cupid._ I will faire mother, and so play my part, As euery touch shall wound Queene _Didos_ heart.

_Venus._ Sleepe my sweete nephew in these cooling shades, Free from the murmure of these running streames, The crye of beasts, the ratling of the windes, Or whisking of these leaues, all shall be still, And nothing interrupt thy quiet sleepe, Till I returne and take thee hence againe. _Exit._

Actus 3. Scena I.

_Enter Cupid solus._

_Cupid._ Now _Cupid_ cause the Carthaginian Queene, To be inamourd of thy brothers lookes, Conuey this golden arrowe in thy sleeue, Lest she imagine thou art _Venus_ sonne: And when she strokes thee softly on the head, Then shall I touch her breast and conquer her.

_Enter Iarbus, Anna, and Dido._

_Iar._ How long faire _Dido_ shall I pine for thee? Tis not enough that thou doest graunt me loue, But that I may enioy what I desire: That loue is childish which consists in words.

_Dido._ _Iarbus_, know that thou of all my wooers (And yet haue I had many mightier Kings) Hast had the greatest fauours I could giue: I feare me _Dido_ hath been counted light, In being too familiar with _Iarbus_: Albeit the Gods doe know no wanton thought Had euer residence in _Didos_ breast.

_Iar._ But _Dido_ is the fauour I request.

_Dido._ Feare not _Iarbus_, _Dido_ may be thine.

_Anna._ Looke sister how _Æneas_ little sonne Playes with your garments and imbraceth you.

_Cupid._ No _Dido_ will not take me in her armes, I shall not be her sonne, she loues me not.

_Dido._ Weepe not sweet boy, thou shalt be _Didos_ sonne, Sit in my lap and let me heare thee sing. No more my child, now talke another while, And tell me where learnst thou this pretie song?

_Cupid._ My cosin _Helen_ taught it me in _Troy_.

_Dido._ How louely is _Ascanius_ when he smiles?

_Cupid._ Will _Dido_ let me hang about her necke?

_Dido._ I wagge, and giue thee leaue to kisse her to.

_Cupid._ What will you giue me? now Ile haue this Fanne.

_Dido._ Take it _Ascanius_, for thy fathers sake.

_Iar._ Come _Dido_, leaue _Ascanius_, let vs walke.

_Dido._ Goe thou away, _Ascanius_ shall stay.

_Iar._ Vngentle Queene, is this thy loue to me?

_Dido._ O stay _Iarbus_, and Ile goe with thee.

_Cupid._ And if my mother goe, Ile follow her.

_Dido._ Why staiest thou here? thou art no loue of mine?

_Iar._ _Iarbus_ dye, seeing she abandons thee.

_Dido._ No, liue _Iarbus_, what hast thou deseru'd, That I should say thou art no loue of mine? Something thou hast deseru'd, away I say, Depart from _Carthage_, come not in my sight.

_Iar._ Am I not King of rich _Getulia_?

_Dido._ _Iarbus_ pardon me, and stay a while.

_Cupid._ Mother, looke here.

_Dido._ What telst thou me of rich _Getulia_? Am not I Queene of _Libia_? then depart.

_Iar._ I goe to feed the humour of my Loue, Yet not from _Carthage_ for a thousand worlds.

_Dido._ _Iarbus_.

_Iar._ Doth _Dido_ call me backe?

_Dido._ No, but I charge thee neuer looke on me.

_Iar._ Then pull out both mine eyes, or let me dye. _Exit Iarb._

_Anna._ Wherefore doth _Dido_ bid _Iarbus_ goe?

_Dido._ Because his lothsome sight offends mine eye, And in my thoughts is shrin'd another loue: O _Anna_, didst thou know how sweet loue were, Full soone wouldst thou abiure this single life.

_Anna._ Poore soule I know too well the sower of loue, O that _Iarbus_ could but fancie me.

_Dido._ Is not _Æneas_ faire and beautifull?

_Anna._ Yes, and _Iarbus_ foule and fauourles.

_Dido._ Is he not eloquent in all his speech?

_Anna._ Yes, and _Iarbus_ rude and rusticall.

_Dido._ Name not _Iarbus_, but sweete _Anna_ say, Is not _Æneas_ worthie _Didos_ loue?

_Anna._ O sister, were you Empresse of the world, _Æneas_ well deserues to be your loue, So lovely is he that where ere he goes, The people swarme to gaze him in the face.

_Dido._ But tell them none shall gaze on him but I, Lest their grosse eye-beames taint my louers cheekes: _Anna_, good sister _Anna_ goe for him, Lest with these sweete thoughts I melt cleane away.

_Anna._ Then sister youle abiure _Iarbus_ loue?

_Dido._ Yet must I heare that lothsome name againe? Runne for _Æneas_, or Ile flye to him. _Exit Anna._

_Cupid._ You shall not hurt my father when he comes.

_Dido._ No, for thy sake Ile loue thy father well. O dull conceipted _Dido_, that till now Didst neuer thinke _Æneas_ beautifull: But now for quittance of this ouersight, Ile make me bracelets of his golden haire, His glistering eyes shall be my looking glasse, His lips an altar, where Ile offer vp As many kisses as the Sea hath sands, In stead of musicke I will heare him speake, His lookes shall be my only Librarie, And thou _Æneas, Didos_ treasurie, In whose faire bosome I will locke more wealth, Then twentie thousand Indiaes can affoord: O here he comes, loue, loue, giue _Dido_ leaue To be more modest then her thoughts admit, Lest I be made a wonder to the world. _Achates_, how doth _Carthage_ please your Lord?

_Acha._ That will _Æneas_ shewe your maiestie.

_Dido._ _Æneas_ art thou there?

_Æn._ I vnderstand your highnesse sent for me.

_Dido._ No, but now thou art here, tell me in sooth, In what might _Dido_ highly pleasure thee.

_Æn._ So much haue I receiu'd at _Didos_ hands, As without blushing I can aske no more: Yet Queene of _Affricke_, are my ships vnrigd, My Sailes all rent in sunder with the winde, My Oares broken, and my Tackling lost, Yea all my Nauie split with Rockes and Shelfes: Nor Sterne nor Anchor haue our maimed Fleete, Our Masts the furious windes strooke ouer bourd: Which piteous wants if _Dido_ will supplie, We will account her author of our liues.

_Dido._ _Æneas_, Ile repaire thy Troian ships, Conditionally that thou wilt stay with me, And let _Achates_ saile to _Italy_: Ile giue thee tackling made of riueld gold, Wound on the barkes of odoriferous trees, Oares of massie Iuorie full of holes, Through which the water shall delight to play: Thy Anchors shall be hewed from Christall Rockes, Which if thou lose shall shine aboue the waues; The Masts whereon thy swelling sailes shall hang, Hollow Pyramides of siluer plate: The sailes of foulded Lawne, where shall be wrought The warres of _Troy_, but not _Troyes_ ouerthrow: For ballace, emptie _Didos_ treasurie, Take what ye will, but leaue _Æneas_ here. _Achates_, thou shalt be so meanly clad, As Seaborne Nymphes shall swarme about thy ships, And wanton Mermaides court thee with sweete songs, Flinging in fauours of more soueraigne worth, Then _Thetis_ hangs about _Apolloes_ necke, So that _Æneas_ may but stay with me.

_Æn._ Wherefore would _Dido_ haue _Æneas_ stay?

_Dido._ To warre against my bordering enemies: _Æneas_, thinke not _Dido_ is in loue: For if that any man could conquer me, I had been wedded ere _Æneas_ came: See where the pictures of my suiters hang, And are not these as faire as faire may be?

_Acha._ I saw this man at _Troy_ ere _Troy_ was sackt.

_Æn._ I this in _Greece_ when _Paris_ stole faire _Helen_.

_Illio._ This man and I were at _Olympus_ games.

_Serg._ I know this face, he is a Persian borne, I traueld with him to _Ætolia_.

_Cloan._ And I in _Athens_ with this gentleman, Vnlesse I be deceiu'd disputed once.

_Dido._ But speake _Æneas_, know you none of these?

_Æn._ No Madame, but it seemes that these are Kings.

_Dido._ All these and others which I neuer sawe, Haue been most vrgent suiters for my loue, Some came in person, others sent their Legats: Yet none obtaind me, I am free from all, And yet God knowes intangled vnto one. This was an Orator, and thought by words To compasse me, but yet he was deceiu'd: And this a Spartan Courtier vaine and wilde, But his fantastick humours pleasde not me: This was _Alcion_, a Musition, But playd he nere so sweet, I let him goe: This was the wealthie King of _Thessaly_, But I had gold enough and cast him off: This _Meleagers_ sonne, a warlike Prince, But weapons gree not with my tender yeares: The rest are such as all the world well knowes, Yet how I sweare by heauen and him I loue, I was as farre from loue, as they from hate.

_Æn._ O happie shall he be whom _Dido_ loues.

_Dido._ Then neuer say that thou art miserable, Because it may be thou shalt be my loue: Yet boast not of it, for I loue thee not, And yet I hate thee not: O if I speake I shall betray my selfe: _Æneas_ speake, We two will goe a hunting in the woods, But not so much for thee, thou art but one, As for _Achates_, and his followers. _Exeunt._

_Enter Iuno to Ascanius asleepe._

_Iuno._ Here lyes my hate, _Æneas_ cursed brat, The boy wherein false destinie delights, The heire of furie, the fauorite of the face, That vgly impe that shall outweare my wrath, And wrong my deitie with high disgrace: But I will take another order now, And race th'eternall Register of time: _Troy_ shall no more call him her second hope, Nor _Venus_ triumph in his tender youth: For here in spight of heauen Ile murder him, And feede infection with his left out life: Say _Paris_, now shall _Venus_ haue the ball? Say vengeance, now shall her _Ascanius_ dye. O no God wot, I cannot watch my time, Nor quit good turnes with double fee downe told: Tut, I am simple without made to hurt, And haue no gall at all to grieue my foes: But lustfull _Ioue_ and his adulterous child, Shall finde it written on confusions front, That onely _Iuno_ rules in _Rhamnuse_ towne.

_Enter Venus._

_Venus._ What should this meane? my Doues are back returnd, Who warne me of such daunger prest at hand, To harme my sweete _Ascanius_ louely life. _Iuno_, my mortall foe, what make you here? Auaunt old witch and trouble not my wits.

_Iuno._ Fie _Venus_, that such causeles words of wrath, Should ere defile so faire a mouth as thine: Are not we both sprong of celestiall rase, And banquet as two Sisters with the Gods? Why is it then displeasure should disioyne, Whom kindred and acquaintance counites.

_Venus._ Out hatefull hag, thou wouldst haue slaine my sonne, Had not my Doues discou'rd thy entent: But I will teare thy eyes fro forth thy head, And feast the birds with their bloud-shotten balles, If thou but lay thy fingers on my boy.

_Iuno._ Is this then all the thankes that I shall haue, For sauing him from Snakes and Serpents stings, That would haue kild him sleeping as he lay? What though I was offended with thy sonne, And wrought him mickle woe on sea and land, When for the hate of Troian _Ganimed_, That was aduanced by my _Hebes_ shame, And _Paris_ iudgement of the heauenly ball, I mustred all the windes vnto his wracke, And vrg'd each Element to his annoy: Yet now I doe repent me of his ruth, And wish that I had neuer wrongd him so: Bootles I sawe it was to warre with fate, That hath so many vnresisted friends: Wherefore I chaunge my counsell with the time, And planted loue where enuie erst had sprong.

_Venus._ Sister of _Ioue_, if that thy loue be such, As these thy protestations doe paint forth, We two as friends one fortune will deuide: _Cupid_ shall lay his arrowes in thy lap, And to a Scepter chaunge his golden shafts, Fancie and modestie shall liue as mates, And thy faire peacockes by my pigeons pearch: Loue my _Æneas_, and desire is thine, The day, the night, my Swannes, my sweetes are thine.

_Iuno._ More then melodious are these words to me, That ouercioy my soule with their content: _Venus_, sweete _Venus_, how may I deserue Such amourous fauours at thy beautious hand? But that thou maist more easilie perceiue, How highly I doe prize this amitie, Harke to a motion of eternall league, Which I will make in quittance of thy loue: Thy sonne thou knowest with _Dido_ now remaines, And feedes his eyes with fauours of her Court, She likewise in admyring spends her time, And cannot talke nor thinke of ought but him: Why should not they then ioyne in marriage, And bring forth mightie Kings to Carthage towne, Whom casualtie of sea hath made such friends? And _Venus_, let there be a match confirmd Betwixt these two, whose loues are so alike, And both our Deities conioynd in one, Shall chaine felicitie vnto their throne.

_Venus._ Well could I like this reconcilements meanes, But much I feare my sonne will nere consent, Whose armed soule alreadie on the sea, Darts forth her light to _Lauinias_ shoare.

_Iuno._ Faire Queene of loue, I will deuorce these doubts, And finde the way to wearie such fond thoughts: This day they both a hunting forth will ride Into these woods, adioyning to these walles, When in the midst of all their gamesome sports, Ile make the Clowdes dissolue their watrie workes, And drench _Siluanus_ dwellings with their shewers, Then in one Caue the Queene and he shall meete, And interchangeably discourse their thoughts, Whose short conclusion will seale vp their hearts, Vnto the purpose which we now propound.

_Venus._ Sister, I see you sauour of my wiles, Be it as you will haue for this once, Meane time, _Ascanius_ shall be my charge, Whom I will beare to _Ida_ in mine armes, And couch him in _Adonis_ purple downe, _Exeunt._

_Enter Dido, Æneas, Anna, Iarbus, Achates, and followers._

_Dido._ _Æneas_, thinke not but I honor thee, That thus in person goe with thee to hunt: My princely robes thou seest are layd aside, Whose glittering pompe _Dianas_ shrowdes supplies, All fellowes now disposde alike to sporte, The woods are wide, and we haue store of game: Faire Troian, hold my golden bowe awhile, Vntill I gird my quiuer to my side: Lords goe before, we two must talke alone.

_Iar._ Vngentle, can she wrong _Iarbus_ so? Ile dye before a stranger haue that grace: We two will talke alone, what words be these?

_Dido._ What makes _Iarbus_ here of all the rest? We could haue gone without your companie.

_Æn._ But loue and duetie led him on perhaps, To presse beyond acceptance to your sight.

_Iar._ Why man of _Troy_, doe I offend thine eyes? Or art thou grieude thy betters presse so nye?

_Dido._ How now Getulian, are ye growne so braue, To challenge vs with your comparisons? Pesant, goe seeke companions like thy selfe, And meddle not with any that I loue: _Æneas_, be not moude at what he sayes, For otherwhile he will be out of ioynt.

_Iar._ Women may wrong by priuiledge of loue: But should that man of men (_Dido_ except) Haue taunted me in these opprobrious termes, I would haue either drunke his dying bloud, Or els I would haue giuen my life in gage?

_Dido._ Huntsmen, why pitch you not your toyles apace, And rowse the light foote Deere from forth their laire.

_Anna._ Sister, see see _Ascanius_ in his pompe, Bearing his huntspeare brauely in his hand.

_Dido._ Yea little sonne, are you so forward now?

_Asca._ I mother, I shall one day be a man, And better able vnto other armes, Meane time these wanton weapons serue my warre, Which I will breake betwixt a Lyons iawes.

_Dido._ What, darest thou looke a Lyon in the face?

_Asca._ I, and outface him to, doe what he can.

_Anna._ How like his father speaketh he in all?

_Æn._ And mought I liue to see him sacke rich _Thebes_, And loade his speare with Grecian Princes heads, Then would I wish me with _Anchises_ Tombe, And dead to honour that hath brought me vp.

_Iar._ And might I liue to see thee shipt away, And hoyst aloft on _Neptunes_ hideous hilles, Then would I wish me in faire _Didos_ armes, And dead to scorne that hath pursued me so.

_Æn._ Stoute friend _Achates_, doest thou know this wood?

_Acha._ As I remember, here you shot the Deere, That sau'd your famisht souldiers liues from death, When first you set your foote vpon the shoare, And here we met fair _Venus_ virgine like, Bearing her bowe and quiuer at her backe.

_Æn._ O how these irksome labours now delight, And ouerioy my thoughts with their escape: Who would not vndergoe all kind of toyle, To be well stor'd with such a winters tale?

_Dido._ _Æneas_, leaue these dumpes and lets away, Some to the mountaines, some vnto the soyle, You to the vallies, thou vnto the house.

_Exeunt omnes: manent._

_Iar._ I, this it is which wounds me to the death, To see a Phrigian far fet to the sea, Preferd before a man of maiestie: O loue, O hate, O cruell womens hearts, That imitate the Moone in euery chaunge, And like the Planets euer loue to raunge: What shall I doe thus wronged with disdaine? Reuenge me on _Æneas_, or on her: On her? fond man, that were to warre gainst heauen, And with one shaft prouoke ten thousand darts: This Troians end will be thy enuies aime, Whose bloud will reconcile thee to content, And make loue drunken with thy sweete desire: But _Dido_ that now holdeth him so deare, Will dye with very tidings of his death: But time will discontinue her content, And mould her minde vnto newe fancies shapes: O God of heauen, turne the hand of fate Vnto that happie day of my delight, And then, what then? _Iarbus_ shall but loue: So doth he now, though not with equall gaine, That resteth in the riuall of thy paine, Who nere will cease to soare till he be slaine. _Exit._

_The storme. Enter Æneas and Dido in the Caue at seuerall times._

_Dido._ _Æneas._

_Æn._ _Dido._

_Dido._ Tell me deare loue, how found you out this Caue?

_Æn._ By chance sweete Queene, 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.

_Æn._ Why, what is it that _Dido_ may desire And not obtaine, be it in humaine power?

_Dido._ The thing that I will dye before I aske, And yet desire to haue before I dye.

_Æn._ It is not ought _Æneas_ may achieue?

_Dido._ _Æneas_ no, although his eyes doe pearce.

_Æn._ What, hath _Iarbus_ angred her in ought? And will she be auenged on his life?

_Dido._ Not angred me, except in angring thee.

_Æn._ Who then of all so cruell may he be, That should detaine thy eye in his defects?

_Dido._ The man that I doe eye where ere I am, Whose amorous face like _Pean_ sparkles fire, When as he buts his beames on _Floras_ bed, _Prometheus_ hath put on _Cupids_ shape, And I must perish in his burning armes: _Æneas_, O _Æneas_, quench these flames.

_Æn._ What ailes my Queene, is she falne sicke of late?

_Dido._ Not sicke my loue, but sicke, I must conceale The torment, that it bootes me not reueale; And yet Ile speake, and yet Ile hold my peace, Doe shame her worst, I will disclose my griefe: _Æneas_, thou art he, what did I say? Something it was that now I haue forgot.

_Æn._ What meanes faire _Dido_ by this doubtfull speech?

_Dido._ Nay, nothing, but _Æneas_ loues me not.