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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Dido

Act: 3 Scene: 2

Here lyes my hate, Aeneas cursed brat,

The boy wherein false destinie delights,

The heire of fame, the favorite of the fates,

That ugly impe that shall outweare my wrath,

And wrong my deitie with high disgrace:

But I will take another order now,

And race th'eternall Register of time:

Troy shall no more call him her second hope,

Nor Venus triumph in his tender youth:

For here in spight of heaven Ile murder him,

And feede infection with his let out life:

Say Paris, now shall Venus have the ball?

Say vengeance, now shall her Ascanius dye?

O no God wot, I cannot watch my time,

Nor quit good turnes with double fee downe told:

Tut, I am simple, without minde to hurt,

And have no gall at all to grieve my foes:

But lustfull Jove and his adulterous child,

Shall finde it written on confusions front,

That onely Juno rules in Rhamnuse towne.

Fie Venus, that such causeles words of wrath,

Should ere defile so faire a mouth as thine:

Are not we both sprong of celestiall rase,

And banquet as two Sisters with the Gods?

Why is it then displeasure should disjoyne,

Whom kindred and acquaintance counites?

Is this then all the thankes that I shall have,

For saving him from Snakes and Serpents stings,

That would have kild him sleeping as he lay?

What though I was offended with thy sonne,

And wrought him mickle woe on sea and land,

When for the hate of Troian Ganimed,

That was advanced by my Hebes shame,

And Paris judgement of the heavenly ball,

I mustred all the windes unto his wracke,

And urg'd each Element to his annoy:

Yet now I doe repent me of his ruth,

And wish that I had never wrongd him so:

Bootles I sawe it was to warre with fate,

That hath so many unresisted friends:

Wherefore I chaungd my counsell with the time,

And planted love where envie erst had sprong.

More then melodious are these words to me,

That ovecloy my soule with their content:

Venus, sweete Venus, how may I deserve

Such amourous favours at thy beautious hand?

But that thou maist more easilie perceive,

How highly I doe prize this amitie,

Harke to a motion of eternall league,

Which I will make in quittance of thy love:

Thy sonne thou knowest with Dido now remaines,

And feedes his eyes with favours of her Court,

She likewise in admyring spends her time,

And cannot talke nor thinke of ought but him:

Why should not they then joyne in marriage,

And bring forth mightie Kings to Carthage towne,

Whom casualtie of sea hath made such friends?

And Venus, let there be a match confirmd

Betwixt these two, whose loves are so alike,

And both our Deities conjoynd in one,

Shall chaine felicitie unto their throne.

Faire Queene of love, I will devorce these doubts,

And finde the way to wearie such fond thoughts:

This day they both a hunting forth will ride

Into these woods, adjoyning to these walles,

When in the midst of all their gamesome sports,

Ile make the Clowdes dissolve their watrie workes,

And drench Silvanus dwellings with their shewers,

Then in one Cave the Queene and he shall meete,

And interchangeably discourse their thoughts,

Whose short conclusion will seale up their hearts,

Unto the purpose which we now propound.