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.