Volume II Part 67 (2/2)
_aen._ 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; 150 Some came in person, others sent their legates, Yet none obtained me: I am free from all; And yet, G.o.d knows, entangled unto one.
This was an orator, and thought by words To compa.s.s me: but yet he was deceiv'd: And this a Spartan courtier, vain and wild; But his fantastic humours pleased 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; 160 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 now[489] I swear, by heaven and him I love, I was as far from love as they from hate.
_aen._ 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,-- 170 And yet I hate thee not.--O, if I speak, I shall betray myself! [_Aside._]--aeneas, come:[490]
We too will go a-hunting in the woods; But not so much for thee,--thou art but one,-- As for Achates and his followers. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_[491] JUNO _to_ ASCANIUS, _who lies asleep_.
_Juno._ Here lies my hate, aeneas' cursed brat, The boy wherein false Destiny delights, The heir of Fury,[492] the favourite of the Fates,[493]
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 Heaven, I'll murder him, 10 And feed infection with his let-out[494] life.
Say, Paris, now shall Venus have the ball?
Say, vengeance, now shall her Ascanius die?
O no! G.o.d wot, I cannot watch my time, Nor quit good turns with double fee down told: Tut, I am simple, without mind[495] to hurt, And have no gall at all to grieve my foes!
But l.u.s.tful Jove and his adulterous child Shall find it written on confusion's front, That only Juno rules in Rhamnus town.[496] 20
_Enter_ VENUS.
_Ven._ What should this mean? my doves are back return'd Who warn me of such danger prest[497] at hand To harm my sweet Ascanius' lovely life.-- Juno, my 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 G.o.ds?
Why is it, then, displeasure should disjoin 30 Whom kindred and acquaintance co-unites?
_Ven._ Out, hateful hag! thou wouldst have slain my son, Had not my doves discovered thy intent: But I will tear thy eyes fro forth thy head, And feast the birds with their blood-shotten b.a.l.l.s, 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 killed him, sleeping, as he lay?
What, though I was offended with thy son, 40 And wrought him mickle woe on sea and land, When, for the hate of Trojan Ganymede,[498]
That was advanced by my Hebe's shame, And Paris' judgment of the heavenly ball, I mustered 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[499] friends: 50 Wherefore I changed[500] 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[501] and modesty shall live as mates, And thy fair peac.o.c.ks by my pigeons perch: Love, my aeneas, and desire is thine; 60 The day, the night, my swans, my sweets, are thine.
_Juno._ More than melodious are these words to me, That overcloy my soul with their content.
Venus, sweet Venus, how may I deserve Such amorous favours at thy beauteous hand?
But, that thou mayst 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.
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