And wilt thou not be mov'd with Didos words?
Thy mother was no Goddesse perjurd man,
Nor Dardanus the author of thy stocke:
But thou art sprung from Scythian Caucasus,
And Tygers of Hircania gave thee sucke:
Ah foolish Dido to forbeare this long!
Wast thou not wrackt upon this
Libian shoare,
And cam'st to Dido like a Fisher swaine?
Repairde not I thy ships, made thee a King,
And all thy needie followers Noblemen?
O Serpent that came creeping from the shoare,
And I for pitie harbord in my bosome,
Wilt thou now slay me with thy venomed sting,
And hisse at Dido for preserving thee?
Goe goe and spare not, seeke out Italy,
I hope that that which love forbids me doe,
The Rockes and Sea-gulfes will performe at large,
And thou shalt perish in the billowes waies,
To whom poore Dido doth bequeath revenge.
I traytor, and the waves shall cast thee up,
Where thou and false Achates first set foote:
Which if it chaunce, Ile give ye buriall,
And weepe upon your liveles carcases,
Though thou nor he will pitie me a whit.
Why star'st thou in my face? if thou wilt stay,
Leape in mine armes, mine armes are open wide:
If not, turne from me, and Ile turne from thee:
For though thou hast the heart to say farewell,
I have not power to stay thee: is he gone? [Exit Aeneas.]
I but heele come againe, he cannot goe,
He loves me to too well to serve me so:
Yet he that in my sight would not relent,
Will, being absent, be obdurate still.
By this is he got to the water side,
And, see the Sailers take him by the hand,
But he shrinkes backe, and now remembring me,
Returnes amaine: welcome, welcome my love:
But wheres Aeneas? ah hees gone hees gone!
