The Tragedy of Dido Queene of Carthage Part 8

_Illio._ But what shall it be calde, _Troy_ as before?

_aen._ That haue I not determinde with my selfe.

_Cloan._ Let it be term'd _aenea_ by your name.

_Serg._ Rather _Ascania_ by your little sonne.

_aen._ Nay, I will haue it calde _Anchisaon_, Of my old fathers name.

_Enter Hermes with Ascanius._

_Hermes._ _aeneas_ stay, _Ioues_ Herald bids thee stay.

_aen._ Whom doe I see, _Ioues_ winged messenger?

Welcome to _Carthage_ new erected towne.

_Hermes._ Why cosin, stand you building Cities here, And beautifying the Empire of this Queene, While _Italy_ is cleane out of thy minde?

To too forgetfull of thine owne affayres, Why wilt thou so betray thy sonnes good hap?

The king of G.o.ds sent me from highest heauen, To sound this angrie message in thine eares.

Vaine man, what Monarky expectst thou here?

Or with what thought sleepst thou in _Libia_ sh.o.a.re?

If that all glorie hath forsaken thee, And thou despise the praise of such attempts: Yet thinke vpon _Ascanius_ prophesie, And yong _Iulus_ more then thousand yeares, Whom I haue brought from _Ida_ where he slept, And bore yong _Cupid_ vnto _Cypresse_ Ile.

_aen._ This was my mother that beguild the Queene, And made me take my brother for my sonne: No maruell _Dido_ though thou be in loue, That daylie danlest _Cupid_ in thy armes: Welcome sweet child, where hast thou been this long?

_Asca._ Eating sweet Comfites with Queene _Didos_ maide, Who euer since hath luld me in her armes.

_aen._ _Sergestus_, beare him hence vnto our s.h.i.+ps, Lest _Dido_ spying him keepe him for a pledge.

_Hermes._ Spendst thou thy time about this little boy, And giuest not care vnto the charge I bring?

I tell thee thou must straight to _Italy_, Or els abide the wrath of frowning _Ioue_.

_aen._ How should I put into the raging deepe, Who haue no sailes nor tackling for my s.h.i.+ps?

What would the G.o.ds haue me _Deucalion_ like, Flote vp and downe where ere the billowes driue?

Though she repairde my fleete and gaue me s.h.i.+ps, Yet hath she tane away my oares and masts, And left me neither saile nor sterne abourd.

_Enter to them Iarbus._

_Iar._ How now _aeneas_, sad, what meanes these dumpes?

_aen._ _Iarbus_, I am cleane besides my selfe, _Ioue_ hath heapt on me such a desperate charge, Which neither art nor reason may atchieue, Nor I deuise by what meanes to contriue.

_Iar._ As how I pray, may I entreat you tell.

_aen._ With speede he bids me sail to _Italy_.

When as I want both rigging for my fleete, And also furniture for these my men.

_Iar._ If that be all, then cheare thy drooping lookes, For I will furnish thee with such supplies: Let some of those thy followers goe with me, And they shall haue what thing so ere thou needst.

_aen._ Thankes good _Iarbus_ for thy friendly ayde, _Achates_ and the rest shall waite on thee, Whil'st I rest thankfull for this curtesie.

_Exit Iarbus and aeneas traine._

Now will I haste vnto _Lauinian_ sh.o.a.re, And raise a new foundation to old _Troy_, Witnes the G.o.ds, and witnes heauen and earth, How loth I am to leaue these _Libian_ bounds, But that eternall _Iupiter_ commands.

_Enter Dido and aeneas._

_Dido._ I feare I sawe _aeneas_ little sonne, Led by _Achates_ to the Troian fleete: If it be so, his father meanes to flye: But here he is, now _Dido_ trie thy wit.

_aeneas_, wherefore goe thy men abourd?, Why are thy s.h.i.+ps new rigd? or to what end Launcht from the hauen, lye they in the Rhode?

Pardon me though I aske, loue makes me aske.

_aen._ O pardon me, if I resolue thee why: _aeneas_ will not faine with his deare loue, I must from hence: this day swift _Mercury_ When I was laying a platforme for these walles, Sent from his father _Ioue_, appeard to me, And in his name rebukt me bitterly, For lingering here, neglecting _Italy_.

_Dido._ But yet _aeneas_ will not leaue his loue.

_aen._ I am commaunded by immortal _Ioue_, To leaue this towne and pa.s.se to _Italy_, And therefore must of force.

_Dido._ These words proceed not from _aeneas_ heart.

_aen._ Not from my heart, for I can hardly goe, And yet I may not stay, _Dido_ farewell.

_Dido._ Farewell: is this the mends for _Didos_ loue?

Doe Troians vse to quit their Louers thus?

Fare well may _Dido_, so _aeneas_ stay, I dye, if my _aeneas_ say farewell.

_aen._ Then let me goe and neuer say farewell, Let me goe, farewell, I must from hence.

_Dido._ These words are poyson to poore _Didos_ soule, O speake like my _aeneas_, like my loue: Why look'st thou toward the sea? the time hath been When _Didos_ beautie chaungd thine eyes to her; Am I lesse faire then when thou sawest me first?

O then _aeneas_, tis for griefe of thee: Say thou wilt stay in _Carthage_ with my Queene, And _Didos_ beautie will returne againe: _aeneas_, say, how canst thou take thy leaue?

Wilt thou kisse _Dido_? O thy lips haue sworne To stay with _Dido_: canst thou take her hand?

Thy Hand and mine haue plighted mutuall faith, Therefore vnkinde _aeneas_, must thou say, Then let me goe, and neuer say farewell.

_aen._ O Queene of _Carthage_, wert thou vgly blacke, _aeneas_ could not choose but hold thee deare, Yet must he not gainsay the G.o.ds behest.

_Dido._ The G.o.ds, what G.o.ds be those that seeke my death?

Wherein haue I offended _Iupiter_, That he should take _aeneas_ from mine armes?

O no, the G.o.ds wey not what Louers doe, It is _aeneas_ calles _aeneas_ hence, And wofull _Dido_ by these blubbred cheekes, By this right hand, and by our spousall rites, Desires _aeneas_ to remaine with her: _Si bene quid de te merui, fuit aut tibi quidquam Dulce meum, miserere domus labentis: & istam Oro, si quis ad hac precibus locus, exue mentem._

_aen. Desine meque tuis incendere teque querelis, Italiam non sponte sequor._

_Dido._ Hast thou forgot how many neighbour kings Were vp in armes, for making thee my loue?

How _Carthage_ did rebell, _Iarbus_ storme, And all the world calles me a second _Helen_, For being intangled by a strangers lookes: So thou wouldst proue as true as _Paris_ did, Would, as faire _Troy_ was, _Carthage_ might be sackt, And I be calde a second _Helena_.

Had I a sonne by thee, the griefe were lesse, That I might see _aeneas_ in his face: Now if thou goest, what canst thou leaue behind, But rather will augment then ease my woe?

_aen._ In vaine my loue thou spendst thy fainting breath, If words might moue me I were ouercome.

_Dido._ And wilt thou not be mou'd with _Didos_ words?

Thy mother was no G.o.ddesse periurd man, Nor _Darda.n.u.s_ the author of thy stocke: But thou art Sprung from _Scythian Caucasus_, And Tygers of _Hircania_ gaue thee sucke: Ah foolish _Dido_ to forbeare this long!