Part 7 (1/2)

_aen._ The sea is rough, the windes blow to the sh.o.a.re.

_Dido._ O false _aeneas_, now the sea is rough, But when you were abourd twas calme enough, Thou and _Achates_ ment to saile away.

_aen._ Hath not the Carthage Queene mine onely sonne?

Thinkes _Dido_ I will goe and leaue him here?

_Dido._ _aeneas_ pardon me, for I forgot That yong _Ascanius_ lay with me this night: Loue made me iealous, but to make amends, Weare the emperiall Crowne of _Libia_, Sway thou the Punike Scepter in my steede, And punish me _aeneas_ for this crime.

_aen._ This kisse shall be faire _Didos_ punishment.

_Dido._ O how a Crowne becomes _aeneas_ head!

Stay here _aeneas_, and commaund as King.

_aen._ How vaine am I to weare this Diadem, And beare this golden Scepter in my hand?

A Burgonet of steele, and not a Crowne, A Sword, and not a Scepter fits _aeneas_.

_Dido._ O keepe them still, and let me gaze my fill: Now lookes _aeneas_ like immortall _Ioue_, O where is _Ganimed_ to hold his cup, And _Mercury_ to flye for what he calles, Ten thousand _Cupids_ houer in the ayre, And fanne it in _aeneas_ louely face, O that the Clowdes were here wherein thou fleest, That thou and I vnseene might sport our selues: Heauens enuious of our ioyes is waxen pale, And when we whisper, then the starres fall downe, To be partakers of our honey talke.

_aen._ O _Dido_, patronesse of all our liues, When I leaue thee, death be my punishment, Swell raging seas, frowne wayward destinies, Blow windes, threaten ye Rockes and sandie shelfes, This is the harbour that _aeneas_ seekes, Lets see what tempests can anoy me now.

_Dido._ Not all the world can take thee from mine armes, _aeneas_ may commaund as many Moores, As in the Sea are little water drops: And now to make experience of my loue, Faire sister _Anna_ leade my louer forth, And seated on my Gennet, let him ride As _Didos_ husband through the punicke streetes, And will my guard with Mauritanian darts, To waite vpon him as their soueraigne Lord.

_Anna._ What if the Citizens repine thereat?

_Dido._ Those that dislike what _Dido_ giues in charge, Commaund my guard to slay for their offence: Shall vulgar pesants storme at what I doe?

The ground is mine that giues them sustenance, The ayre wherein they breathe, the water, fire, All that they haue, their lands, their goods, their liues, And I the G.o.ddesse of all these, commaund _aeneas_ ride as Carthaginian King.

_Acha._ _aeneas_ for his parentage deserues As large a kingdome as is _Libia_.

_aen._ I, and vnlesse the destinies be false, I shall be planted in as rich a land.

_Dido._ Speake of no other land, this land is thine, _Dido_ is thine, henceforth Ile call thee Lord: Doe as I bid thee, sister leade the way, And from a turret Ile behold my loue.

_aen._ Then here in me shall flourish _Priams_ race, And thou and I _Achates_, for reuenge, For _Troy_, for _Priam_, for his fiftie sonnes, Our kinsmens loues, and thousand guiltles soules, Will leade an hoste against the hatefull Greekes, And fire proude _Lacedemon_ ore their heads. _Exit._

_Dido._ Speakes not _aeneas_ like a Conqueror?

O blessed tempests that did driue him in, O happie sand that made him runne aground: Henceforth you shall be our Carthage G.o.ds: I, but it may be he will leaue my loue, And seeke a forraine land calde _Italy_: O that I had a charme to keepe the windes Within the closure of a golden ball, Or that the Tyrrhen sea were in mine armes, That he might suffer s.h.i.+pwracke on my breast, As oft as he attempts to hoyst vp saile: I must preuent him, wis.h.i.+ng will not serue: Goe, bid my Nurse take yong _Ascanius_, And beare him in the countrey to her house, _aeneas_ will not goe without his sonne: Yet left he should, for I am full of feare, Bring me his oares, his tackling, and his sailes; What if I sinke his s.h.i.+ps? O heele frowne.

Better he frowne, then I should dye for griefe: I cannot see him frowne, it may not be: Armies of foes resolu'd to winne this towne, Or impious traitors vowde to haue my life, Affright me not, onely _aeneas_ frowne Is that which terrifies poore _Didos_ heart: Nor bloudie speares appearing in the ayre, Presage the downfall of my Emperie, Nor blazing Commets threatens _Didos_ death, It is _aeneas_ frowne that ends my daies: If he forsake me not, I neuer dye, For in his lookes I see eternitie, And heele make me immortall with a kisse.

_Enter a Lord._

Your Nurse is gone with yong _Ascanius_, And heres _aeneas_ tackling, oares and sailes.

_Dido._ Are these the sailes that in despight of me, Packt with the windes to beare _aeneas_ hence?

Ile hang ye in the chamber where I lye, Driue if you can my house to _Italy_: Ile set the cas.e.m.e.nt open that the windes May enter in, and once againe conspire Against the life of me poore Carthage Queene: But though he goe, he stayes in Carthage still, And let rich Carthage fleete vpon the seas, So I may haue _aeneas_ in mine armes.

Is this the wood that grew in Carthage plaines, And would be toyling in the watrie billowes, To rob their mistresse of her Troian guest?

O cursed tree, hadst thou but wit or sense, To measure how I prize _aeneas_ loue, Thou wouldst haue leapt from out the Sailers hands, And told me that _aeneas_ ment to goe: And yet I blame thee not, thou art but wood.