Act Four, Scene FourDido
O Anna, runne unto the water side,
They say Aeneas men are going abourd,
It may be he will steale away with them:
Stay not to answere me, runne Anna runne. [Exit Anna.]
O foolish Trojans that would steale from hence,
And not let Dido understand their drift:
I would have given Achates store of gold,
And Illioneus gum and Libian spice,
The common souldiers rich imbrodered coates,
And silver whistles to controule the windes,
Which Circes sent Sicheus when he lived:
Unworthie are they of a Queenes reward:
See where they come, how might I doe to chide?
Enter Anna, with Aeneas, Achates, Illioneus, and Sergestus.
Twas time to runne, Aeneas had been gone,
The sailes were hoysing up, and he abourd.
Is this thy love to me?
O princely Dido, give me leave to speake,
I went to take my farewell of Achates.
How haps Achates bid me not farewell?
Because I feard your grace would keepe me here.
To rid thee of that doubt, abourd againe,
I charge thee put to sea and stay not here.
Then let Aeneas goe abourd with us.
Get you abourd, Aeneas meanes to stay.
The sea is rough, the windes blow to the shoare.
O false Aeneas, now the sea is rough,
But when you were abourd twas calme enough,
Thou and Achates ment to saile away.
Hath not the Carthage Queene mine onely sonne?
Thinkes Dido I will goe and leave him here?
Aeneas pardon me, for I forgot
That yong Ascanius lay with me this night:
Love made me jealous, but to make amends,
Weare the emperiall Crowne of Libia,
Sway thou the Punike Scepter in my steede,
And punish me Aeneas for this crime.
[Gives him crowne and scepter.]
This kisse shall be faire Didos punishment.
O how a Crowne becomes Aeneas head!
Stay here Aeneas, and commaund as King.
How vaine am I to weare this Diadem,
And beare this golden Scepter in my hand?
A Burgonet of steele, and not a Crowne,
A Sword, and not a Scepter fits Aeneas.
O keepe them still, and let me gaze my fill:
Now lookes Aeneas like immortall Jove,
O where is Ganimed to hold his cup,
And Mercury to flye for what he calles?
Ten thousand Cupids hover in the ayre,
And fanne it in Aeneas lovely face,
O that the Clowdes were here wherein thou fledst,
That thou and I unseene might sport our selves:
Heavens envious of our joyes is waxen pale,
And when we whisper, then the starres fall downe,
To be partakers of our honey talke.
O Dido, patronesse of all our lives,
When I leave thee, death be my punishment,
Swell raging seas, frowne wayward destinies ,
Blow windes, threaten ye Rockes and sandie shelfes,
This is the harbour that Aeneas seekes,
Lets see what tempests can anoy me now.
Not all the world can take thee from mine armes,
Aeneas may commaund as many Moores,
As in the Sea are little water drops:
And now to make experience of my love,
Faire sister Anna leade my lover forth,
And seated on my Gennet, let him ride
As Didos husband through the Punicke streetes,
And will my guard with Mauritanian darts,
To waite upon him as their soveraigne Lord.
What if the Citizens repine thereat?
Those that dislike what Dido gives in charge,
Commaund my guard to slay for their offence:
Shall vulgar pesants storme at what I doe?
The ground is mine that gives them sustenance,
The ayre wherein they breathe, the water, fire,
All that they have, their lands, their goods, their lives,
And I the Goddesse of all these, commaund
Aeneas ride as Carthaginian King.
Aeneas for his parentage deserves
As large a kingdome as is Libia.
I, and unlesse the destinies be false,
I shall be planted in as rich a land.
Speake of no other land, this land is thine,
Dido is thine, henceforth Ile call thee Lord:
Doe as I bid thee sister, leade the way,
And from a turret Ile behold my love.
Then here in me shall flourish Priams race,
And thou and I Achates, for revenge,
For Troy, for Priam, for his fiftie sonnes,
Our kinsmens lives, and thousand guiltles soules,
Will leade an hoste against the hatefull Greekes,
And fire proude Lacedemon ore their heads.
Exit [with Troians].
Speakes not Aeneas like a Conqueror?
O blessed tempests that did drive him in,
O happie sand that made him runne aground:
Henceforth you shall be our Carthage Gods:
I, but it may be he will leave my love,
And seeke a forraine land calde Italy:
O that I had a charme to keepe the windes
Within the closure of a golden ball,
Or that the Tyrrhen sea were in mine armes,
That he might suffer shipwracke on my breast,
As oft as he attempts to hoyst up saile:
I must prevent him, wishing will not serve:
Goe, bid my Nurse take yong Ascanius,
And beare him in the countrey to her house,
Aeneas will not goe without his sonne:
Yet lest he should, for I am full of feare,
Bring me his oares, his tackling, and his sailes: [Exit a Lord.]
What if I sinke his ships? O heele frowne:
Better he frowne, then I should dye for griefe:
I cannot see him frowne, it may not be:
Armies of foes resolv'd to winne this towne,
Or impious traitors vowde to have my life,
Affright me not, onely Aeneas frowne
Is that which terrifies poore Didos heart:
Not bloudie speares appearing in the ayre,
Presage the downfall of my Emperie,
Nor blazing Commets threatens Didos death ,
It is Aeneas frowne that ends my daies:
If he forsake me not, I never dye,
For in his lookes I see eternitie,
And heele make me immortall with a kisse.
Enter a Lord.
Your Nurse is gone with yong Ascanius,
And heres Aeneas tackling, oares and sailes.
Are these the sailes that in despight of me,
Packt with the windes to beare Aeneas hence?
Ile hang ye in the chamber where I lye,
Drive if you can my house to Italy:
Ile set the casement open that the windes
May enter in, and once againe conspire
Against the life of me poore Carthage Queene:
But though he goe, he stayes in Carthage still,
And let rich Carthage fleete upon the seas,
So I may have Aeneas in mine armes.
Is this the wood that grew in Carthage plaines,
And would be toyling in the watrie billowes,
To rob their mistresse of her Troian guest?
O cursed tree, hadst thou but wit or sense,
To measure how I prize Aeneas love,
Thou wouldst have leapt from out the Sailers hands,
And told me that Aeneas ment to goe:
And yet I blame thee not, thou art but wood.
The water which our Poets terme a Nimph,
Why did it suffer thee to touch her breast,
And shrunke not backe, knowing my love was there?
The water is an Element, no Nimph,
Why should I blame Aeneas for his flight?
O Dido, blame not him, but breake his oares,
These were the instruments that launcht him forth,
Theres not so much as this base tackling too,
But dares to heape up sorrowe to my heart:
Was it not you that hoysed up these sailes?
Why burst you not, and they fell in the seas?
For this will Dido tye ye full of knots,
And sheere ye all asunder with her hands:
Now serve to chastize shipboyes for their faults,
Ye shall no more offend the Carthage Queene.
Now let him hang my favours on his masts,
And see if those will serve in steed of sailes:
For tackling, let him take the chaines of gold,
Which I bestowd upon his followers:
In steed of oares, let him use his hands,
And swim to Italy, Ile keepe these sure:
Come beare them in.