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Nor stern nor anchor have our maimed fleet;
Our masts the furious winds struck overboard:
Which piteous wants if Dido will supply,
We will account her author of our lives.
DIDO. Æneas, I'll repair thy Trojan ships,
Conditionally that thou wilt stay with me,
And let Achates sail to Italy:
I'll give thee tackling made of riveld gold,
Wound on the barks of odoriferous trees,
Oars of massy ivory, full of holes,
Through which the water shall delight to play;
Thyanchors shall be hew'd from crystal rocks,
Which, if thou lose, shall shine above the waves;
The masts, whereon thy swelling sails shall hang,
Hollow pyramids of silver plate;
The sails of folded lawn, where shall be wrought
The wars of Troy, but not Troy's overthrow;
For ballast, empty Dido's treasury:
Take what ye will, but leave Æneas here.
Achates, thou shalt be so meanly clad,
As sea-born nymphs shall swarm about thy ships,
And wanton mermaids court thee with sweet songs,
Flinging in favours of more sovereign worth
Than Thetis hangs about Apollo's neck,
So that Æneas may but stay with me.
EN. Wherefore would Dido have Æneas stay? DIDO. To war against my bordering enemies. Æneas, think not Dido is in love; For if that any man could conquer me, I had been wedded ere Eneas came :
See where the pictures of my suitors hang;
And are not these as fair as fair may be?
ACHA. I saw this man at Troy, ere Troy was sack'd.
EN. I this in Greece, when Paris stole fair
ILIO. This man and I were at Olympus' games.
SERG. I know this face; he is a Persian born:
I travell'd with him to Etolia.
CLOAN. And I in Athens, with this gentleman, Unless I be deceiv'd, disputed once.
DIDO. But speak, Æneas; know you none of these?
EN. No, madam; but it seems that these are kings.
DIDO. All these, and others which I never saw,
Have been most urgent suitors for my love;
Some came in person, others sent their legates,
Yet none obtain'd me: I am free from all;
And yet, God knows, entangled unto one.
This was an orator, and thought, by words,
To compass me but yet he was deceiv'd:
And this a Spartan courtier, vain and wild;
But his fantastic humours pleas'd not me:
This was Alcion, a musician;
But, play'd he ne'er so sweet, I let him go:
This was the wealthy king of Thessaly;
But I had gold enough, and cast him off:
This, Meleager's son, a warlike prince;
But weapons 'gree not with my tender years:
The rest are such as all the world well knows;
Yet here I swear, by heaven and him I love,
I was as far from love as they from hate.
EN. O happy shall he be whom Dido loves!
DIDO. Then never say that thou art miserable:
Because, it may be, thou shalt be my love:
Yet boast not of it, for I love thee not,
And yet I hate thee not. Oh, if I speak
I shall betray myself: Eneas, speak ;
We two will go a hunting in the woods;
But not so much for thee,-thou art but one,-
As for Achates, and his followers.
Enter JUNO to ASCANIUS, asleep.
JUNO. Here lies my hate, Eneas' cursed brat, The boy wherein false destiny delights, The heir of Fury, the favourite of the Fates, That ugly imp that shall outwear my wrath, And wrong my deity with high disgrace: But I will take another order now, And raze th' eternal register of time. Troy shall no more call him her second hope, Nor Venus triumph in his tender youth; For here, in spite of heav'n, I'll murder him, And feed infection with his let-out life: Say, Paris, now shall Venus have the ball? Say, vengeance, now shall her Ascanius die? O no, God wot, I cannot watch my time, Nor quit good turns with double fee down told.
Tut! I am simple without might to hurt,
And have no gall at all to grieve my foes;
But lustful Jove and his adulterous child
Shall find it written on confusion's front,
That only Juno rules in Rhamnus town.
VEN. What should this mean? my doves are back
Who warn me of such danger prest at hand,
To harm my sweet Ascanius' lovely life. mortal foe, what make you here?
Avaunt, old witch! and trouble not my wits.
JUNO. Fie, Venus! that such causeless words of wrath,
Should e'er defile so fair a mouth as thine.
Are not we both sprung of celestial race,
And banquet, as two sisters, with the gods?
Why is it, then, displeasure should disjoin,
Whom kindred and acquaintance co-unites?
VEN. Out, hateful hag! thou would'st have slain
Had not my doves discover'd thy intent;
But I will tear thy eyes from forth thy head,
And feast the birds with their blood-shotten balls,
If thou but lay thy fingers on my boy!
JUNO. Is this, then, all the thanks that I shall have,
For saving him from snakes and serpents' stings,
That would have kill'd him, sleeping, as he lay?
What, though I was offended with thy son,
And wrought him mickle woe on sea and land,
When, for the hate of Trojan Ganymede,
That was advanced by my Hebe's shame,
And Paris' judgment of the heavenly ball,
I muster'd all the winds unto his wreck,
And urg'd each element to his annoy:
Yet now I do repent me of his ruth,
And wish that I had never wrong'd him so.
Bootless, I saw, it was to war with fate,
That hath so many unresisted friends:
Wherefore I change my counsel with the time,
And planted love where envy erst had sprung.
VEN. Sister of Jove! if that thy love be such
As these thy protestations do paint forth,
We two, as friends, one fortune will divide:
Cupid shall lay his arrows in thy lap,
And, to a sceptre, change his golden shafts;
Fancy and modesty shall live as mates;
And thy fair peacocks by my pigeons perch:
Love my Æneas, and desire is thine;
The day, the night, my swans, my sweets, are thine.
JUNO. More than melodious are these words to
That overcloy my soul with their content:
Venus, sweet Venus! how may I deserve
Such amorous favours at thy beauteous hand?
But, that thou may'st more easily perceive
How highly I do prize this amity,
Hark to a motion of eternal league,
Which I will make in quittance of thy love.
Thy son, thou know'st, with Dido now remains,