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Act Four, Scene 2

Enters Iarbus to Sacrifize.

Come servants, come bring forth the Sacrifize,
That I may pacifie that gloomie Jove,
Whose emptie Altars have enlarg'd our illes.
Eternall Jove, great master of the Clowdes,
Father of gladnesse, and all frollicke thoughts,
That with thy gloomie hand corrects the heaven,
When ayrie creatures warre amongst themselves:
Heare, heare, O heare Iarbus plaining prayers,
Whose hideous ecchoes make the welkin howle,
And all the woods Eliza to resound:
The woman that thou wild us entertaine,
Where straying in our borders up and downe,
She crav'd a hide of ground to build a towne,
With whom we did devide both lawes and land,
And all the fruites that plentie els sends forth,
Scorning our loves and royall marriage rites,
Yeelds up her beautie to a strangers bed,
Who having wrought her shame, is straight way fled:
Now if thou beest a pitying God of power,
On whom ruth and compassion ever waites,
Redresse these wrongs, and warne him to his ships
That now afflicts me with his flattering eyes.
Enter Anna.

How now Iarbus, at your prayers so hard?

I Anna, is there ought you would with me?

Nay, no such waightie busines of import,
But may be slackt untill another time:
Yet if you would partake with me the cause
Of this devotion that detaineth you,
I would be thankfull for such curtesie.

Anna, against this Troian doe I pray,
Who seekes to rob me of thy Sisters love,
And dive into her heart by coloured lookes.

Alas poore King that labours so in vaine,
For her that so delighteth in thy paine:
Be rul'd by me, and seeke some other love,
Whose yeelding heart may yeeld thee more reliefe.

Mine eye is fixt where fancie cannot start,
O leave me, leave me to my silent thoughts,
That register the numbers of my ruth,
And I will either move the thoughtles flint,
Or drop out both mine eyes in drisling teares,
Before my sorrowes tide have any stint.

I will not leave Iarbus whom I love,
In this delight of dying pensivenes:
Away with Dido, Anna be thy song,
Anna that doth admire thee more then heaven.

I may nor will list to such loathsome chaunge,
That intercepts the course of my desire:
Servants, come fetch these emptie vessels here,
For I will flye from these alluring eyes,
That doe pursue my peace where ere it goes.

Iarbus stay, loving Iarbus stay,
For I have honey to present thee with:
Hard hearted, wilt not deigne to heare me speake?
Ile follow thee with outcryes nere the lesse,
And strewe thy walkes with my discheveld haire

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