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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Dido

Act: 4 Scene: 1

The ayre is deere, and Southerne windes are whist,

Come Dido, let us hasten to the towne,

Since gloomie Aeolus doth cease to frowne.

Faire Anna, how escapt you from the shower?

Act: 4 Scene: 3

Carthage, my friendly host adue,

Since destinie doth call me from thy shoare:

Hermes this night descending in a dreame,

Hath summond me to fruitfull Italy:

Jove wils it so, my mother wils it so:

Let my Phenissa graunt, and then I goe:

Graunt she or no, Aeneas must away,

Whose golden fortunes clogd with courtly ease,

Cannot ascend to Fames immortall house,

Or banquet in bright honors burnisht hall,

Till he hath furrowed Neptunes glassie fieldes,

And cut passage through his toples hilles:

Achates come forth, Sergestus, Illioneus,

Cloanthus, haste away, Aeneas calles.

The dreames that did beset my bed

When sleepe but newly had imbrast the night

Commaunds me leave these unrenowmed reames,

Whereas Nobilitie abhors to stay,

And none but base Aeneas will abide:

Abourd, abourd, since Fates doe bid abourd,

And slice the Sea with sable coloured ships,

On whom the nimble windes may all day waight,

And follow them as footemen through the deepe:

Yet Dido casts her eyes like anchors out,

To stay my Fleete from loosing forth the Bay:

Come backe, come backe, I heare her crye a farre,

And let me linke thy bodie to my lips,

That tyed together by the striving tongues,

We may as one saile into Italy

Troians abourd, and I will follow you,

[Exeunt omnes, manet Aeneas.]

I fame would goe, yet beautie calles me backe:

To leave her so and not once say farewell,

Were to transgresse against all lawes of love:

But if I use such ceremonious thankes,

As parting friends accustome on the shoare,

Her silver armes will coll me round about,

And teares of pearle, crye stay, Aeneas, stay:

Each word she sayes will then containe a Crowne,

And every speech be ended with a kisse:

I may not dure this female drudgerie,

To sea Aeneas, finde out Italy.

Act: 4 Scene: 4

O princely Dido, give me leave to speake,

I went to take my farewell of Achates.

The sea is rough, the windes blow to the shoare.

Hath not the Carthage Queene mine onely sonne?

Thinkes Dido I will goe and leave him here?

This kisse shall be faire Didos punishment.

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.

O Dido, patronesse of all our lives,

When I leave 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.

I, and unlesse the destinies be false,

I shall be planted in as rich a land.

Then here in me shall flourish Priams race,

And thou and I Achates, for revenge,

For Troy, for Priam, for his fiftie sonnes,

Our kinsmens lives, and thousand guiltles soules,

Will leade an hoste against the hatefull Greekes,

And fire proude Lacedemon ore their heads.

Exit [with Troians].