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 called me a second Helen,
For being entangled by a stranger's looks;
So thou would'st 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 Æneas in his face:
Now if thou goest, what can'st thou leave
behind,

But rather will augment than ease my woe? En. 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 Cau-

casus,

And tigers of Hyrcania gave thee suck.
Ah, foolish Dido, to forbear this long!
Wast thou not wrecked 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-gulls will perform at
large,

And thou shalt perish in the billows' ways,
To whom poor Dido doth bequeath revenge:
Aye, 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 carcases,
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,

have not power to stay thee.-[Exit Eneas.] Is he gone?

Aye, 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 water-side;
And see, the sailors take him by the hand;
But he shrinks back; and now, remember-
ing me,

Returns amain: welcome, welcome, my love!

But where's Æneas? Ah! he's gone! he's gone!

Enter Anna.

Anna. What means my sister, thus to rave and cry!

Dido. O Anna! my Æneas is aboard, And leaving me, will sail to Italy. Once did'st 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 Æneas!

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.

Enter the Nurse.

Nurse. O Dido! your little son Ascanius Is gone! He lay with me last night, And in the morning he was stolen 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!
Traitress too kenn'd! and cursed sorceress!
Nurse. I know not what you mean by
treason, I,

Live, false Æneas! truest Dido dies! Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras.

Enter Anna.

Anna. O help, Iarbas! Dido, in these flames,

Hath burnt herself! ah me! unhappy me!

Enter Iarbas, running.

Iar. Cursed Iarbas! die to expiate The grief that tires upon thine inward soul: Dido, I come to thee. Ah me, Æneas! [Kills himself.

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. [Kills herself.

Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,

When 'twas the odour which her breath forth cast;

And there for honey bees have sought in vain, And, beat from thence, have lighted there again.

About her neck hung chains of pebblestone,

Which, lightened by her neck, like diamonds shone.

She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind,

Or warm or cool them, for they took delight To play upon those hands, they were so white.

Buskins of shells, all silvered, used she, And branched with blushing coral to the knee;

Where sparrows perched, of hollow pearl and gold,

Such as the world would wonder to behold: Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills,

Which, as she went, would cherup through the bills.

Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pined, And, looking in her face, was strooken blind.

But this is true; so like was one the other,
As he imagined Hero was his mother;
And oftentimes into her bosom flew,
About her naked neck his bare arms threw,
And laid his childish head upon her breast,
And, with still panting rock, there took his

rest.

So lovely fair was Hero, Venus' nun,
As Nature wept, thinking she was undone,
Because she took more from her than she
left,

And of such wondrous beauty her bereft : Therefore, in sign her treasure suffered wrack,

Since Hero's time hath half the world been black.

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young, (Whose tragedy divine Musæus sung,) Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there

none

For whom succeeding times make greater

moan.

His dangling tresses, that were never shorn, Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne, Would have allured the venturous youth of Greece

To hazard more than for the golden fleece. Fair Cynthia wished his arms might be her sphere;

Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there.

His body was as straight as Circe's wand; Jove might have sipt out nectar from his hand..

Even as delicious meat is to the taste,
So was his neck in touching, and surpast
The white of Pelops' shoulder: I could tell
ye,

How smooth his breast was, and how white his belly;

And whose immortal fingers did imprint That heavenly path with many a curious dint,

That runs along his back; but my rude pen
Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men
Much less of powerful gods : let it suffice
That my slack Muse sings of Leander's eyes;
Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his
That leapt into the water for a kiss
Of his own shadow, and, despising many,
Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.
Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen,
Enamoured of his beauty had he been:
His presence made the rudest peasant melt,
That in the vast uplandish country dwelt;
The barbarous Thracian soldier, moved with
naught,

Was moved with him, and for his favour sought.

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