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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Dido

Act: 3 Scene: 4

Aeneas.

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

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

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

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.

Not angred me, except in angring thee.

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.

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.

Nay, nothing, but Aeneas loves me not.

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.

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.