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The Works of Christopher Marlowe

I, this is it, you can sit toying there,

And playing with that female wanton boy,

Whiles my Aeneas wanders on the Seas,

And rests a pray to every billowes pride.

Juno, false Juno in her Chariots pompe,

Drawne through the heavens by Steedes of Boreas brood,

Made Hebe to direct her ayrie wheeles

Into the windie countrie of the clowdes,

Where finding Aeolus intrencht with stormes,

And guarded with a thousand grislie ghosts,

She humbly did beseech him for our bane,

And charg'd him drowne my sonne with all his traine.

Then gan the windes breake ope their brazen doores,

And all Aeolia to be up in armes:

Poore Troy must now be sackt upon the Sea,

And Neptunes waves be envious men of warre,

Epeus horse, to Aetnas hill transformd,

Prepared stands to wracke their woodden walles,

And Aeolus like Agamemnon sounds

The surges, his fierce souldiers, to the spoyle:

See how the night Ulysses-like comes forth,

And intercepts the day as Dolon erst:

Ay me! the Starres supprisde like Rhesus Steedes,

Are drawne by darknes forth Astraeus tents.

What shall I doe to save thee my sweet boy?

When as the waves doe threat our Chrystall world,

And Proteus raising hils of flouds on high,

Entends ere long to sport him in the skie.

False Jupiter, rewardst thou vertue so?

What? is not pietie exempt from woe?

Then dye Aeneas in thine innocence,

Since that religion hath no recompence.

How may I credite these thy flattering termes,

When yet both sea and sands beset their ships,

And Phoebus as in Stygian pooles, refraines

To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhen maine?

Disquiet Seas lay downe your swelling lookes,

And court Aeneas with your calmie cheere,

Whose beautious burden well might make you proude,

Had not the heavens conceav'd with hel-borne clowdes,

Vaild his resplendant glorie from your view.

For my sake pitie him Oceanus,

That erst-while issued from thy watrie loynes,

And had my being from thy bubling froth:

Triton I know hath fild his trumpe with Troy,

And therefore will take pitie on his toyle,

And call both Thetis and Cimothoe ,

To succour him in this extremitie.

Enter Aeneas with Ascanius [and Achates], with one or two more.

What? doe I see my sonne now come on shoare

Venus, how art thou compast with content,

The while thine eyes attract their sought for joyes:

Great Jupiter, still honourd maist thou be,

For this so friendly ayde in time of neede

Here in this bush disguised will I stand,

Whiles my Aeneas spends himselfe in plaints,

And heaven and earth with his unrest acquaints.

See what strange arts necessitie findes out,

[Aside.]

How neere my sweet Aeneas art thou driven?

Now is the time for me to play my part:

Hoe yong men, saw you as you came

Any of all my Sisters wandring here?

Having a quiver girded to her side,

And cloathed in a spotted Leopards skin.

Such honour, stranger, doe I not affect:

It is the use for Tirien maides to weare

Their bowe and quiver in this modest sort,

And suite themselves in purple for the nonce,

That they may trip more lightly ore the lawndes,

And overtake the tusked Bore in chase.

But for the land whereof thou doest enquire,

It is the Punick kingdome rich and strong,

Adjoyning on Agenors stately towne,

The kingly seate of Southerne Libia,

Whereas Sidonian Dido rules as Queene.

But what are you that aske of me these things?

Whence may you come, or whither will you goe?

Fortune hath favord thee what ere thou be,

In sending thee unto this curteous Coast:

A Gods name on and hast thee to the Court,

Where Dido will receive ye with her smiles:

And for thy ships which thou supposest lost,

Not one of them hath perisht in the storme,

But are arived safe not farre from hence:

And so I leave thee to thy fortunes lot,

Wishing good lucke unto thy wandring steps.

Faire child stay thou with Didos waiting maide,

Ile give thee Sugar-almonds, sweete Conserves,

A silver girdle, and a golden purse,

And this yong Prince shall be thy playfellow.

Such bow, such quiver, and such golden shafts,

Will Dido give to sweete Ascanius:

For Didos sake I take thee in my armes,

And sticke these spangled feathers in thy hat,

Eate Comfites in mine armes, and I will sing. [Song.]

Now is he fast asleepe, and in this grove

Amongst greene brakes Ile lay Ascanius,

And strewe him with sweete smelling Violets,

Blushing Roses, purple Hyacinthe :

These milke white Doves shall be his Centronels:

Who if that any seeke to doe him hurt,

Will quickly fiye to Cithereas fist.

Now Cupid turne thee to Ascanius shape,

And goe to Dido, who in stead of him

Will set thee on her lap and play with thee:

Then touch her white breast with this arrow head,

That she may dote upon Aeneas love:

And by that meanes repaire his broken ships,

Victuall his Souldiers, give him wealthie gifts,

And he at last depart to Italy,

Or els in Carthage make his kingly throne.

Sleepe my sweete nephew in these cooling shades,

Free from the murmure of these running streames,

The crye of beasts, the ratling of the windes,

Or whisking of these leaves, all shall be still,

And nothing interrupt thy quiet sleepe,

Till I returne and take thee hence againe.

What should this meane? my Doves are back returnd,

Who warne me of such daunger prest at hand,

To harme my sweete Ascanius lovely life.

Juno, my mortall foe, what make you here?

Avaunt old witch and trouble not my wits.

Out hatefull hag, thou wouldst have slaine my sonne,

Had not my Doves discov'rd thy entent:

But I will teare thy eyes fro forth thy head,

And feast the birds with their bloud-shotten balles,

If thou but lay thy fingers on my boy.

Sister of Jove, if that thy love be such,

As these thy protestations doe paint forth,

We two as friends one fortune will devide:

Cupid shall lay his arrowes in thy lap,

And to a Scepter chaunge his golden shafts,

Fancie and modestie shall live as mates,

And thy faire peacockes by my pigeons pearch:

Love my Aeneas, and desire is thine,

The day, the night, my Swannes, my sweetes are thine.

Well could I like this reconcilements meanes,

But much I feare my sonne will nere consent,

Whose armed soule alreadie on the sea,

Darts forth her light to Lavinias shoare.

Sister, I see you savour of my wiles,

Be it as you will have it for this once,

Meane time, Ascanius shall be my charge,

Whom I will beare to Ida in mine armes,

And couch him in Adonis purple downe.