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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Dido

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.

What more then Delian musicke doe I heare,

That calles my soule from forth his living seate,

To move unto the measures of delight:

Kind clowdes that sent forth such a curteous storme,

As made disdaine to flye to fancies lap:

Stoute love in mine armes make thy Italy,

Whose Crowne and kingdome rests at thy commande:

Sicheus, not Aeneas be thou calde:

The King of Carthage, not Anchises sonne:

Hold, take these Jewels at thy Lovers hand,

These golden bracelets, and this wedding ring,

Wherewith my husband woo'd me yet a maide,

And be thou king of Libia, by my guift.

Exeunt to the Cave.

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