Part 5 (1/2)

_Dido._ What makes _Iarbus_ here of all the rest?

We could haue gone without your companie.

_aen._ 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: _aeneas_, 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?

_aen._ 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 s.h.i.+pt 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.

_aen._ 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 sh.o.a.re, And here we met fair _Venus_ virgine like, Bearing her bowe and quiuer at her backe.

_aen._ 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._ _aeneas_, 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 _aeneas_, 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 G.o.d 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 aeneas and Dido in the Caue at seuerall times._

_Dido._ _aeneas._

_aen._ _Dido._