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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Dido

Act: 1 Scene: 1

Come gentle Ganimed and play with me,

I love thee well, say Juno what she will.

What? dares she strike the darling of my thoughts?

By Saturnes soule, and this earth threatning haire,

That shaken thrise, makes Natures buildings quake,

I vow, if she but once frowne on thee more,

To hang her meteor like twixt heaven and earth,

And bind her hand and foote with golden cordes,

As once I did for harming Hercules.

What ist sweet wagge I should deny thy youth?

Whose face reflects such pleasure to mine eyes,

As I exhal'd with thy fire darting beames,

Have oft driven backe the horses of the night,

When as they would have hal'd thee from my sight:

Sit on my knee, and call for thy content,

Controule proud Fate, and cut the thred of time.

Why, are not all the Gods at thy commaund,

And heaven and earth the bounds of thy delight?

Vulan shall daunce to make thee laughing sport,

And my nine Daughters sing when thou art sad,

From Junos bird Ile pluck her spotted pride,

To make thee fannes wherewith to coole thy face,

And Venus Swannes shall shed their silver downe,

To sweeten out the slumbers of thy bed:

Hermes no more shall shew the world his wings,

If that thy fancie in his feathers dwell,

But as this one Ile teare them all from him,

[Plucks a feather from Mercuries wings.]

Doe thou but say their colour pleaseth me.

Hold here my little love: these linked gems, [Gives jewells.]

My Juno ware upon her marriage day,

Put thou about thy necke my owne sweet heart,

And tricke thy armes and shoulders with my theft.

And shall have Ganimed, if thou wilt be my love.

Content thee Cytherea in thy care,

Since thy Aeneas wandring fate is firme,

Whose wearie lims shall shortly make repose,

In those faire walles I promist him of yore:

But first in bloud must his good fortune bud,

Before he be the Lord of Turnus towne,

Or force her smile that hetherto hath frownd:

Three winters shall he with the Rutiles warre,

And in the end subdue them with his sword,

And full three Sommers likewise shall he waste,

In mannaging those fierce barbarian mindes:

Which once performd, poore Troy so long supprest,

From forth her ashes shall advance her head,

And flourish once againe that erst was dead:

But bright Ascanius , beauties better worke

Who with the Sunne devides one radiant shape,

Shall build his throne amidst those starrie towers,

That earth-borne Atlas groning underprops:

No bounds but heaven shall bound his Emperie,

Whose azured gates enchased with his name,

Shall make the morning hast her gray uprise,

To feede her eyes with his engraven fame.

Thus in stoute Hectors race three hundred yeares,

The Romane Scepter royall shall remaine,

Till that a Princesse priest conceav'd by Mars,

Shall yeeld to dignitie a dubble birth,

Who will eternish Troy in their attempts.

I will take order for that presently:

Hermes awake, and haste to Neptunes realme,

Whereas the Wind-god warring now with Fate,

Besiege the ofspring of Our kingly loynes,

Charge him from me to turne his stormie powers,

And fetter them in Vulcans sturdie brasse,

That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsmans peace.

[Exit Mercury.]

Venus farewell, thy sonne shall be our care:

Come Ganimed, we must about this geare.