Eneas, O Eneas! quench these flames.

EN. 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: Eneas, thou art he! what did I say? Something it was that now I have forgot.

EN.What means fair Dido by this doubtful speech?
DIDO. Nay, nothing, but Æneas loves me not.
EN. Eneas' 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 for me,
And rather had seen fair Sirens' eyes,
Than to the Carthage queen, that dies for him.
EN. 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 rest at thy command:
Sichæus, not Æneas, be thou call'd;

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 woo'd me yet a maid,
And be thou king of Lybia by my gift.

[Exeunt to the Cave.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

Enter ACHATES, CUPID as ASCANIUS, IARBAS, and ANNA.

ACHA. Did ever men see such a sudden storm?

Or day so clear, so suddenly o'ercast?

IAR. I think, some fell enchantress dwelleth here, That can call them forth when as she please, And dive into black tempests' treasury,

When as she means to mask the world with clouds.
ANNA. In all my life I never knew the like;

It hail'd, it snow'd, it lighten'd, all at once.
ACHA. I think, it was the devil's rev'lling night,

VOL. I.

25

There was such a hurly-burly in the heavens :
Doubtless, Apollo's axle-tree is crack'd,
Or aged Atlas' shoulder out of joint,

The motion was so over violent.

IAR. In all this coil, where have ye left the queen?

ASCA. Nay, where's my warlike father, can you tell?

ANNA. Behold, where both of them come forth the cave?

IAR. Come forth the cave! can heaven endure the

sight?

Iarbas, curse that unrevenging Jove,

Whose flinty darts slept in Tiphous' den,
While these adult'rers surfeited with sin:
Nature, why mad'st me not some pois'nous beast,
That, with the sharpness of my edged sting,
I might have stak'd them both unto the earth,
Whilst they were sporting in this darksome cave?
Enter ENEAS and DIDO.

EN. The air is clear, and southern winds are whist,

Come, Dido, let us hasten to the town,

Since gloomy Eolus doth cease to frown.

DIDO. Achates and Ascanius, well met.

EN. Fair Anna! how escap'd you from the shower?

ANNA. As others did,-by running to the wood. DIDO. But where were you, Iarbas, all this while? JAR. Not with Æneas in the ugly cave.

DIDO. I see, Æneas sticketh in your mind; But I will soon put by that stumbling block, And quell those hopes that thus employ your cares.

SCENE II.

Enter IARBAS to sacrifice,

[Exeunt.

IAR. Come, servants, come; bring forth the sacrifice,

That I may pacify that gloomy Jove,

Whose empty altars have enlarg'd our ills.
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 will'd us entertain,
Where, straying in our borders up and down,
She crav'd 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 be'st 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.

Enter ANNA.

ANNA. How now, Iarbas; at your prayers so

hard?

IAR. Aye, Anna: is there aught you would with me?

ANNA. Nay, no such weighty business of import, But may be slack'd 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.

IAR. Anna, against this Trojan do I pray,
Who seeks to rob me of thy sister's love,
And dive into her heart by colour'd looks.
ANNA. Alas, poor king! that labours so in vain,
For her that so delighteth in thy pain:

Be rul'd by me, and seek some other love,
Whose yielding heart may yield thee more relief.
IAR. Mine eye is fix'd where fancy cannot start:
O leave me! leave me to my silent thoughts,
That register the number 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 has 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.

IAR. I may, nor will, list to such loathsome

change,