TheStationersRegister

The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Act: 3 Scene: 2

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.