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Now Cupid cause the Carthaginian Queene,

To be inamourd of thy brothers lookes,

Convey this golden arrowe in thy sleeve,

Lest she imagine thou art Venus sonne:

And when she strokes thee softly on the head,

Then shall I touch her breast and conquer her.

Enter Iarbus, Anna, and Dido.

How long faire Dido shall I pine for thee?

Tis not enough that thou doest graunt me love,

But that I may enjoy what I desire:

That love is childish which consists in words.

Iarbus, know that thou of all my wooers

(And yet have I had many mightier Kings)

Hast had the greatest favours I could give:

I feare me Dido hath been counted light,

In being too familiar with Iarbus:

Albeit the Gods doe know no wanton thought

Had ever residence in Didos breast.

But Dido is the favour I request.

Feare not Iarbus, Dido may be thine.

Looke sister how Aeneas little sonne

Playes with your garments and imbraceth you.

No Dido will not take me in her armes,

I shall not be her sonne, she loves me not.

Weepe not sweet boy, thou shalt be Didos sonne,

Sit in my lap and let me heare thee sing.

[Cupid sings.]

No more my child, now talke another while,

And tell me where learndst thou this pretie song?

My cosin Helen taught it me in Troy.

How lovely is Ascanius when he smiles?

Will Dido let me hang about her necke?

I wagge, and give thee leave to kisse her to.

What will you give me now? Ile have this Fanne.

Take it Ascanius, for thy fathers sake.

Come Dido, leave Ascanius, let us walke.

Goe thou away, Ascanius shall stay.

Ungentle Queene, is this thy love to me?

O stay Iarbus, and Ile goe with thee.

And if my mother goe, Ile follow her.

Why staiest thou here? thou art no love of mine.

Iarbus dye, seeing she abandons thee.

No, live Iarbus, what hast thou deserv'd,

That I should say thou art no love of mine?

Something thou hast deserv'd.— Away I say,

Depart from Carthage, come not in my sight.

Am I not King of rich Getulia?

Iarbus pardon me, and stay a while.

Mother, looke here.

What telst thou me of rich Getulia?

Am not I Queen of Libia? then depart.

I goe to feed the humour of my Love,

Yet not from Carthage for a thousand worlds.

Iarbus.

Doth Dido call me backe?

No, but I charge thee never looke on me.

Then pull out both mine eyes, or let me dye.

Exit Iarbus.

Wherefore doth Dido bid Iarbus goe?

Because his lothsome sight offends mine eye,

And in my thoughts is shrin'd another love:

O Anna, didst thou know how sweet love were,

Full soone wouldst thou abjure this single life.

Poore soule I know too well the sower of love, [Aside.]

O that Iarbus could but fancie me.

Is not Aeneas faire and beautifull?

Yes, and Iarbus foule and favourles.

Is he not eloquent in all his speech?

Yes, and Iarbus rude and rusticall.

Name not Iarbus, but sweete Anna say,

Is not Aeneas worthie Didos love?

O sister, were you Empresse of the world,

Aeneas well deserves to be your love,

So lovely is he that where ere he goes,

The people swarme to gaze him in the face.

But tell them none shall gaze on him but I,

Lest their grosse eye-beames taint my lovers cheekes:

Anna, good sister Anna goe for him,

Lest with these sweete thoughts I melt cleane away.

Then sister youle abjure Iarbus love?

Yet must I heare that lothsome name againe?

Runne for Aeneas, or Ile flye to him.

Exit Anna.

You shall not hurt my father when he comes.

No, for thy sake Ile love thy father well.

O dull conceipted Dido, that till now

Didst never thinke Aeneas beautifull:

But now for quittance of this oversight,

Ile make me bracelets of his golden haire,

His glistering eyes shall be my looking glasse,

His lips an altar, where Ile offer up

As many kisses as te Sea hath sands,

In stead of musicke I will heare him speake,

His lookes shall be my only Librarie,

And thou Aeneas, Didos treasurie,

In whose faire bosome I will locke more wealth,

Then twentie thousand Indiaes can affoord:

O here he comes, love, love, give Dido leave

To be more modest then her thoughts admit,

Lest I be made a wonder to the world.

[Enter Aeneas, Achates, Sergestus, Illioneus, and Cloanthus.]

Achates, how doth Carthage please your Lord?

Achates

That will Aeneas shewe your majestie.

Aeneas, art thou there?

I understand your highnesse sent for me.

No, but now thou art here, tell me in sooth

In what might Dido highly pleasure thee.

So much have I receiv'd at Didos hands,

As without blushing I can aske no more:

Yet Queene of Affricke, are my ships unrigd,

My Sailes all rent in sunder with the winde,

My Oares broken, and my Tackling lost,

Yea all my Navie split with Rockes and Shelfes:

Nor Sterne nor Anchor have our maimed Fleete,

Our Masts the furious windes strooke over bourd:

Which piteous wants if Dido will supplie,

We will account her author of our lives.

Aeneas, Ile repaire thy Trojan ships,

Conditionally that thou wilt stay with me,

And let Achates saile to Italy:

Ile give thee tackling made of riveld gold,

Wound on the barkes of odoriferous trees,

Oares of massie Ivorie full of holes,

Through which the water shall delight to play:

Thy Anchors shall be hewed from Christall Rockes,

Which if thou lose shall shine above the waves:

The Masts whereon thy swelling sailes shall hang,

Hollow Pyramides of silver plate:

The sailes of foulded Lawne, where shall be wrought

The warres of Troy, but not Troyes overthrow:

For ballace, emptie Didos treasurie,

Take what ye will, but leave Aeneas here.

Achates, thou shalt be so meanly clad,

As Seaborne Nymphes shall swarme about thy ships,

And wanton Mermaides court thee with sweete songs,

Flinging in favours of more soveraigne worth,

Then Thetis hangs about Apolloes necke,

So that Aeneas may but stay with me.

Wherefore would Dido have Aeneas stay?

To warre against my bordering enemies:

Aeneas, thinke not Dido is in love:

For if that any man could conquer me,

I had been wedded ere Aeneas came:

See where the pictures of my suiters hang,

And are not these as faire as faire may be?

Achates

I saw this man at Troy ere Troy was sackt.

I this in Greece when Paris stole fair Helen.

Illioneus

This man and I were at Olympus games.

Sergestus

I know this face, he is a Persian borne,

I traveld with him to Aetolia.

Cloanthus

And I in Athens with this gentleman,

Unlesse I be deceiv'd disputed once.

But speake Aeneas, know you none of these?

No Madame, but it seemes that these are Kings.

All these and others which I never sawe,

Have been most urgent suiters for my love,

Some came in person, others sent their Legats:

Yet none obtaind me, I am free from all. —

And yet God knowes intangled unto one.— [Aside.]

This was an Orator, and thought by words

To compasse me, but yet he was deceiv'd:

And this a Spartan Courtier vaine and wilde,

But his fantastick humours pleasde not me:

This was Alcion, a Musition,

But playd he nere so sweet, I let him goe:

This was the wealthie King of Thessaly,

But I had gold enough and cast him off:

This Meleagers sonne, a warlike Prince,

But weapons gree not with my tender yeares:

The rest are such as all the world well knowes,

Yet how I sweare by heaven and him I love,

I was as farre from love, as they from hate.

O happie shall he be whom Dido loves.

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:— O if I speake

I shall betray my selfe: — Aeneas speake,

We two will goe a hunting in the woods,

But not so much for thee, thou art but one,

As for Achates, and his followers.

Exeunt.

Act: 3 Scene: 2<<

Enter Juno to Ascanius asleepe.

Here lyes my hate, Aeneas cursed brat,

The boy wherein false destinie delights,

The heire of fame, the favorite of the fates,

That ugly impe that shall outweare my wrath,

And wrong my deitie with high disgrace:

But I will take another order now,

And race th'eternall Register of time:

Troy shall no more call him her second hope,

Nor Venus triumph in his tender youth:

For here in spight of heaven Ile murder him,

And feede infection with his let out life:

Say Paris, now shall Venus have the ball?

Say vengeance, now shall her Ascanius dye?

O no God wot, I cannot watch my time,

Nor quit good turnes with double fee downe told:

Tut, I am simple, without minde to hurt,

And have no gall at all to grieve my foes:

But lustfull Jove and his adulterous child,

Shall finde it written on confusions front,

That onely Juno rules in Rhamnuse towne.

Enter Venus.

What should this meane? my Doves are back returnd,

Who warne me of such daunger prest at hand,

To harme my sweete Ascanius lovely life.

Juno, my mortall foe, what make you here?

Avaunt old witch and trouble not my wits.

Fie Venus, that such causeles words of wrath,

Should ere defile so faire a mouth as thine:

Are not we both sprong of celestiall rase,

And banquet as two Sisters with the Gods?

Why is it then displeasure should disjoyne,

Whom kindred and acquaintance counites?

Out hatefull hag, thou wouldst have slaine my sonne,

Had not my Doves discov'rd thy entent:

But I will teare thy eyes fro forth thy head,

And feast the birds with their bloud-shotten balles,

If thou but lay thy fingers on my boy.

Is this then all the thankes that I shall have,

For saving him from Snakes and Serpents stings,

That would have kild him sleeping as he lay?

What though I was offended with thy sonne,

And wrought him mickle woe on sea and land,

When for the hate of Troian Ganimed,

That was advanced by my Hebes shame,

And Paris judgement of the heavenly ball,

I mustred all the windes unto his wracke,

And urg'd each Element to his annoy:

Yet now I doe repent me of his ruth,

And wish that I had never wrongd him so:

Bootles I sawe it was to warre with fate,

That hath so many unresisted friends:

Wherefore I chaungd my counsell with the time,

And planted love where envie erst had sprong.

Sister of Jove, if that thy love be such,

As these thy protestations doe paint forth,

We two as friends one fortune will devide:

Cupid shall lay his arrowes in thy lap,

And to a Scepter chaunge his golden shafts,

Fancie and modestie shall live as mates,

And thy faire peacockes by my pigeons pearch:

Love my Aeneas, and desire is thine,

The day, the night, my Swannes, my sweetes are thine.

More then melodious are these words to me,

That ovecloy my soule with their content:

Venus, sweete Venus, how may I deserve

Such amourous favours at thy beautious hand?

But that thou maist more easilie perceive,

How highly I doe prize this amitie,

Harke to a motion of eternall league,

Which I will make in quittance of thy love:

Thy sonne thou knowest with Dido now remaines,

And feedes his eyes with favours of her Court,

She likewise in admyring spends her time,

And cannot talke nor thinke of ought but him:

Why should not they then joyne in marriage,

And bring forth mightie Kings to Carthage towne,

Whom casualtie of sea hath made such friends?

And Venus, let there be a match confirmd

Betwixt these two, whose loves are so alike,

And both our Deities conjoynd in one,

Shall chaine felicitie unto their throne.

Well could I like this reconcilements meanes,

But much I feare my sonne will nere consent,

Whose armed soule alreadie on the sea,

Darts forth her light to Lavinias shoare.

Faire Queene of love, I will devorce these doubts,

And finde the way to wearie such fond thoughts:

This day they both a hunting forth will ride

Into these woods, adjoyning to these walles,

When in the midst of all their gamesome sports,

Ile make the Clowdes dissolve their watrie workes,

And drench Silvanus dwellings with their shewers,

Then in one Cave the Queene and he shall meete,

And interchangeably discourse their thoughts,

Whose short conclusion will seale up their hearts,

Unto the purpose which we now propound.

Sister, I see you savour of my wiles,

Be it as you will have it for this once,

Meane time, Ascanius shall be my charge,

Whom I will beare to Ida in mine armes,

And couch him in Adonis purple downe.

Exeunt.

Act: 3 Scene: 3<<

Enter Dido, Aeneas, Anna, Iarbus, Achates, [Cupid for Ascanius,] and followers.

Aeneas, thinke not but I honor thee,

That thus in person goe with thee to hunt:

My princely robes thou seest are layd aside,

Whose glittering pompe Dianas shrowdes supplies,

All fellowes now, disposde alike to sporte,

The woods are wide, and we have store of game:

Faire Troian, hold my golden bowe awhile,

Untill I gird my quiver to my side:

Lords goe before, we two must talke alone.

Ungentle, can she wrong Iarbus so?

Ile dye before a stranger have that grace:

We two will talke alone, what words be these?

What makes Iarbus here of all the rest?

We could have gone without your companie.

But love and duetie led him on perhaps,

To presse beyond acceptance to your sight.

Why, man of Troy, doe I offend thine eyes?

Or art thou grievde thy betters presse so nye?

How now Getulian, are ye growne so brave,

To challenge us with your comparisons?

Pesant, goe seeke companions like thy selfe,

And meddle not with any that I love:

Aeneas, be not movde at what he sayes,

For otherwhile he will be out of joynt.

Women may wrong by priviledge of love:

But should that man of men (Dido except)

Have taunted me in these opprobrious termes,

I would have either drunke his dying bloud,

Or els I would have given my life in gage.

Huntsmen, why pitch you not your toyles apace,

And rowse the light foote Deere from forth their laire?

Sister, see see Ascanius in his pompe,

Bearing his huntspeare bravely in his hand.

Yea little sonne, are you so forward now?

I mother, I shall one day be a man,

And better able unto other armes.

Meane time these wanton weapons serve my warre,

Which I will breake betwixt a Lyons jawes.

What, darest thou looke a Lyon in the face?

I, and outface him to, doe what he can.

How like his father speaketh he in all?

And mought I live to see him sacke rich Thebes,

And bade his speare with Grecian Princes heads,

Then would I wish me with Anchises Tombe,

And dead to honour that hath brought me up.

And might I live to see thee shipt 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.

Stoute friend Achates, doest thou know this wood?

Achates

As I remember, here you shot the Deere,

That sav'd your famisht souldiers lives from death,

When first you set your foote upon the shoare,

And here we met faire Venus Virgine like,

Bearing her bowe and quiver at her backe.

O how these irksome labours now delight,

And overjoy my thoughts with their escape:

Who would not undergoe all kind of toyle,

To be well stor'd with such a winters tale?

Aeneas, leave these dumpes and lets away,

Some to the mountaines, some unto the soyle,

You to the vallies, thou unto the house.

[To Iarbus.]

Exeunt omnes: manet [Iarbus].

I, this it is which wounds me to the death,

To see a Phrigian far fet on the sea,

Preferd before a man of majestie:

O love, O hate, O cruell womens hearts,

That imitate the Moone in every chaunge,

And like the Planets ever love to raunge:

What shall I doe thus wronged with disdaine?

Revenge me on Aeneas, or on her:

On her? fond man, that were to warre gainst heaven,

And with one shaft provoke ten thousand darts:

This Troians end will be thy envies aime,

Whose bloud will reconcile thee to content,

And make love 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 unto newe fancies shapes:

O God of heaven, turne the hand of fate

Unto that happie day of my delight,

And then, what then? Iarbus shall but love:

So doth he now, though not with equall game,

That resteth in the rivall of thy paine,

Who nere will cease to soare till he be slaine.

Exit.

Act: 3 Scene: 4<<

The storme. Enter Aeneas and Dido in the Cave at severall times.

Aeneas.

Dido.

Tell me deare love, how found you out this Cave?

By chance sweete Queene, as Mars and Venus met.

Why, that was in a net, where we are loose,

And yet I am not free, oh would I were.

Why, what is it that Dido may desire

And not obtaine, be it in humaine power?

The thing that I will dye before I aske,

And yet desire to have before I dye. Aeneas.

It is not ought Aeneas may atchieve?

Aeneas no, although his eyes doe pearce.

What, hath Iarbus angred her in ought?

And will she be avenged on his life?

Not angred me, except in angring thee.

Who then of all so cruell may he be,

That should detaine thy eye in his defects?

The man that I doe eye where ere I am,

Whose amorous face like Pean sparkles fire,

When as he buts his beames on Floras bed,

Prometheus hath put on Cupids shape,

And I must perish in his burning armes.

Aeneas, O Aeneas, quench these flames.

What ailes my Queene, is she falne sicke of late?

Not sicke my love, but sicke: —I must conceale

The torment, that it bootes me not reveale,

And yet Ile speake, and yet Ile hold my peace,

Doe shame her worst, I will disclose my griefe:---

Aeneas, thou art he, what did I say?

Something it was that now I have forgot.

What meanes faire Dido by this doubtfull speech?

Nay, nothing, but Aeneas loves me not.

Aeneas thoughts dare not ascend so high

As Didos heart, which Monarkes might not scale.

It was because I sawe no King like thee,

Whose golden Crowne might ballance my content:

But now that I have found what to effect,

I followe one that loveth fame for me,

And rather had seeme faire to Sirens eyes,

Then to the Carthage Queene that dyes for him.

If that your majestie can looke so lowe,

As my despised worts, that shun all praise,

With this my hand I give to you my heart,

And vow by all the Gods of Hospitalitie,

By heaven and earth, and my faire others bowe,

By Paphos, Capys, and the purple Sea,

From whence my radiant mother did descend,

And by this Sword that saved me from the Greekes,

Never to leave these newe upreared walles,

Whiles Dido lives and rules in Junos towne,

Never to like or love any but her.