_Drums and Trumpets. Enter_[426] KING HENRY,
_the_ KING OF NAVARRE, EPERNOUN,
BARTUS, PLESHÈ, Soldiers, _and_ Attendants.
_Henry._ Brother of Navarre, I sorrow much
That ever I was prov'd your enemy,
And that the sweet and princely mind you bear
Was ever troubled with injurious wars.
I vow, as I am lawful king of France,
To recompense your reconcilèd love,
With all the honours and affections
That ever I vouchsaf'd my dearest friends.
_Nav._ It is enough if that Navarre may be
Esteemèd faithful to the king of France, 10
Whose service he may still command till death.
_Henry._ Thanks to my kingly brother of Navarre.
Then here we'll lie before Lutetia-walls,[427]
Girting this strumpet city with our siege,
Till, surfeiting with our afflicting arms,
She cast her hateful stomach to the earth.
_Enter a_ Messenger.
_Mes._ An it please your majesty, here is a friar of the
order of the Jacobins, sent from the President of Paris,
that craves access unto your grace.
_Henry._ Let him come in. [_Exit_ Mess. 20
_Enter_ Friar, _with a letter._
_Eper._ I like not this friar's look:
'Twere not amiss, my lord, if he were search'd.
_Henry._ Sweet Epernoun, our friars are holy men.
And will not offer violence to their king
For all the wealth and treasure of the world.--
Friar, thou dost acknowledge me thy king?
_Fri._ I, my good lord, and will die therein.
_Henry._ Then come thou near, and tell what news thou bring'st.
_Fri._ My lord,
The President of Paris greets your grace, 30
And sends his duty by these speedy lines,
Humbly craving your gracious reply. [_Gives letter._
_Henry._ I'll read them, friar, and then I'll answer thee.
_Fri._ _Sancte Jacobe_,[428] now have mercy upon me!
[_Stabs the king with a knife, as he reads the
letter; and then the king gets the knife, and kills him._
_Eper._ O my lord, let him live a while!
_Henry._ No, let the villain die, and feel in hell
Just torments for his treachery.
_Nav._ What, is your highness hurt?
_Henry._ Yes, Navarre; but not to death, I hope.
_Nav._ God shield your grace from such a sudden death!-- 40
Go call a surgeon hither straight. [_Exit an_ Attendant.
_Henry._ What irreligious pagans' parts be these,
Of such as hold them of the holy church!
Take hence that damnèd villain from my sight.
[Attendants _carry out the_ Friar's _body._
_Eper._ Ah, had your highness let him live,
We might have punish'd him to his deserts!
_Henry._ Sweet Epernoun, all rebels under heaven
Shall take example by his[429] punishment,
How they bear arms against their sovereign.--
Go call the English agent hither straight: 50
[_Exit an_ Attendant.
I'll send my sister England news of this,
And give her warning of her treacherous foes.
_Enter a_ Surgeon.
_Nav._ Pleaseth your grace to let the surgeon search your wound?
_Henry._ The wound, I warrant ye, is deep, my lord.--
Search, surgeon, and resolve me what thou see'st.
[_The_ Surgeon _searches the wound._
_Enter the_ English Agent.
Agent for England, send thy mistress word
What this detested Jacobin hath done.
Tell her, for all this, that I hope to live;
Which if I do, the papal monarch goes
To wreck, and antichristian kingdom falls: 60
These bloody hands shall tear his triple crown,
And fire accursèd Rome about his ears;
I'll fire his crazèd buildings, and enforce
The papal towers to kiss the lowly[430] earth.
Navarre, give me thy hand: I here do swear
To ruinate that wicked Church of Rome,
That hatcheth up such bloody practices;
And here protest eternal love to thee,
And to the Queen of England specially,
Whom God hath bless'd for hating papistry. 70
_Nav._ These words revive my thoughts, and comfort me,
To see your highness in this virtuous mind.
_Henry._ Tell me, surgeon, shall I live?
_Surg._ Alas, my lord, the wound is dangerous,
For you are stricken with a poison'd knife!
_Henry._ A poison'd knife! what, shall the French king die,
Wounded and poison'd both at once?
_Eper._ O, that
That damnèd villain were alive again, 79
That we might torture him with some new-found death!
_Bar._ He died a death too good:
The devil of hell torture his wicked soul!
_Henry._ Ah, curse him not, sith he is dead!--
O, the fatal poison works within my breast!--
Tell me, surgeon, and flatter not--may I live?
_Surg._ Alas, my lord, your highness cannot live!
_Nav._ Surgeon, why say'st thou so? the king may live.
_Henry._ O no, Navarre! thou must be king of France.
_Nav._ Long may you live, and still be king of France!
_Eper._ Or else, die Epernoun! 90
_Henry._ Sweet Epernoun, thy king must die.--My lords,
Fight in the quarrel of this valiant prince,
For he's your lawful king, and my next heir;
Valois's line ends in my tragedy.
Now let the house of Bourbon wear the crown;
And may it ne'er end in blood as mine hath done!--
Weep not, sweet Navarre, but revenge my death.--
Ah, Epernoun, is this thy love to me?
Henry, thy king, wipes off these childish tears,
And bids thee whet thy sword on Sixtus' bones, 100
That it may keenly slice the Catholics.
He loves me not [the most[431]] that sheds most tears,
But he that makes most lavish of his blood.
Fire Paris, where these treacherous rebels lurk.--
I die, Navarre: come bear me to my sepulchre.
Salute the Queen of England in my name,
And tell her Henry dies her faithful friend. [_Dies._
_Nav._ Come, lords, take up the body of the king,
That we may see it honourably interr'd:
And then I vow so[432] to revenge his death, 110
As Rome, and all these popish prelates there,
Shall curse the time that e'er Navarre was king,
And ruled in France by Henry's fatal death.
[_They march out, with the body of_ KING HENRY
_lying on four men's shoulders, with a dead_
_march, drawing weapons on the ground._
THE TRAGEDY
OF
DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE.
_Dido_ was published in 1594, with the following title:--
_The Tragedie of Dido Queene of Carthage: Played by the Children of her
Maiesties Chappell. Written by Christopher Marlowe, and Thomas Nash,
Gent._
_Actors._
_Jupiter._ _Ascanius._
_Ganimed._ _Dido._
_Venus._ _Anna._
_Cupid._ _Achates._
_Juno._ _Ilioneus._
_Mercurie, or_ _Iarbas._
_Hermes._ _Cloanthes._
_Æneas._ _Sergestus._
_At London, Printed, by the Widdowe Orwin, for Thomas Woodcocke, and are
to be sold at his shop, in Paules Churchyeard, at the signe of the
blacke Beare._ 1594. 4_to._
A copy of this edition is in the Bodleian Library; and I am indebted to
my friend Mr. C. H. Firth for kindly comparing Dyce's text with the text
of the Bodleian copy.
_PERSONS REPRESENTED._
JUPITER.
GANYMEDE.
HERMES.
CUPID.
JUNO.
VENUS.
ÆNEAS.
ASCANIUS, his son.
ACHATES.
ILIONEUS.
CLOANTHUS.
SERGESTUS.
Other Trojans.
IARBAS.
Carthaginian Lords.
DIDO.
ANNA, her sister.
Nurse.
THE TRAGEDY OF
DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
_Here the curtains draw: there is discovered_ JUPITER
_dandling_ GANYMEDE _upon his knee, and_
HERMES _lying asleep._
_Jup._ Come, gentle Ganymede, and play with me;
I love thee well, say Juno what she will.
_Gan._ I am much better for your worthless love,
That will not shield me from her shrewish blows!
To-day, whenas I filled into your cups,
And held the cloth of pleasance whiles you drank,
She reached me such a rap for that I spilled,
As made the blood run down about mine ears.
_Jup._ What? dares she strike the darling of my thoughts?
By Saturn's soul, and this earth-threatening hair,[433] 10
That, shaken thrice, makes nature's buildings quake,
I vow, if she but once frown on thee more,
To hang her, meteor-like, 'twixt heaven and earth,
And bind her, hand and foot, with golden cords,
As once I did for harming Hercules!
_Gan._ Might I but see that pretty sport a-foot,
O, how would I with Helen's brother laugh,
And bring the gods to wonder at the game!
Sweet Jupiter, if e'er I pleased thine eye,
Or seemèd fair, wall'd-in with eagle's wings,[434] 20
Grace my immortal beauty with this boon,
And I will spend my time in thy bright arms.
_Jup._ What is't, sweet wag, I should deny thy youth?
Whose face reflects such pleasure to mine eyes,
As I, exhaled with thy fire-darting beams,
Have oft driven back the horses of the Night,
Whenas they would have haled thee from my sight.
Sit on my knee, and call for thy content,
Control proud Fate, and cut the thread of Time:
Why, are not all the gods at thy command, 30
And heaven and earth the bounds of thy delight?
Vulcan[435] shall dance to make thee laughing-sport,
And my nine daughters sing when thou art sad;
From Juno's bird I'll pluck her spotted pride,
To make thee fans wherewith to cool thy face;
And Venus' swans shall shed their silver down,
To sweeten out the slumbers of thy bed;
Hermes no more shall show the world his wings,
If that thy fancy in his feathers dwell,
But, as this one, I'll tear them all from him, 40
[_Plucks a feather from_ HERMES' _wings_.
Do thou but say, "their colour pleaseth me."
Hold here, my little love; these linked gems, [_Gives jewels._
My Juno ware upon her marriage-day,
Put thou about thy neck, my own sweet heart,
And trick thy arms and shoulders with my theft.
_Gan._ I would have a jewel for mine ear,
And a fine brooch to put in[to] my hat,
And then I'll hug with you an hundred times.
_Jup._ And shall have, Ganymede, if thou wilt be my love.
_Enter_ VENUS.
_Ven._ I, this is it: you can sit toying there, 50
And playing with that female wanton boy,
Whiles my Æneas wanders on the seas,
And rests a prey to every billow's pride.
Juno, false Juno, in her chariot's pomp,
Drawn through the heavens by steeds of Boreas' brood,
Made Hebe to direct her airy wheels;
Into the windy country of the clouds;
Where, finding Æolus entrenched with storms,
And guarded with a thousand grisly ghosts,
She humbly did beseech him for our bane, 60
And charged him drown my son with all his train.
Then gan the winds break ope their brazen doors,
And all Æolia to be up in arms;
Poor Troy must now be sacked upon the sea,
And Neptune's waves be envious men of war;
Epeus' horse, to Ætna's hill transform'd,
Preparèd stands to wreck their wooden walls;
And Æolus, like Agamemnon, sounds
The surges, his fierce soldiers, to the spoil:
See how the night, Ulysses-like, comes forth, 70
And intercepts the day, as Dolon erst!
Ay me! the stars supprised,[436] like Rhesus' steeds,
Are drawn by darkness forth Astræus' tents.[437]
What shall I do to save thee, my sweet boy?
Whenas the waves do threat our crystal world,
And Proteus, raising hills of floods on high,
Intends, ere long, to sport him in the sky.[438]
False Jupiter, reward'st thou virtue so?
What, is not piety exempt from woe?
Then die, Æneas, in thine innocence, 80
Since that religion hath no recompense.
_Jup._ Content thee, Cytherea, in thy care,
Since thy Æneas' wandering fate is firm,[439]
Whose weary limbs shall shortly make repose
In those fair walls I promised him of yore.
But, first, in blood must his good fortune bud,
Before he be the lord of Turnus' town,
Or force her smile that hitherto hath frowned:
Three winters shall he with the Rutiles war,
And, in the end, subdue them with his sword; 90
And full three summers likewise shall he waste
In managing those fierce barbarian minds;
Which once performed, poor Troy, so long suppressed,
From forth her ashes shall advance her head,
And flourish once again, that erst was dead.
But bright Ascanius, beauty's better work,
Who with the sun divides one radiant shape,
Shall build his throne amidst those starry towers
That earth-born Atlas, groaning, underprops:
No bounds, but heaven, shall bound his empery, 100
Whose azured gates, enchasèd with his name,
Shall make the Morning haste her grey uprise,
To feed her eyes with his engraven fame.
Thus, in stout Hector's race, three hundred years[440]
The Roman sceptre royal shall remain,
Till that a princess-priest,[441] conceived by Mars,
Shall yield to dignity a double birth,
Who will eternish[442] Troy in their attempts.
_Ven._ How may I credit these thy flattering terms,
When yet both sea and sands beset their ships, 110
And Phoebus, as in Stygian pools, refrains
To taint his tresses in the Tyrrhene main?
_Jup._ I will take order for that presently.--
Hermes, awake! and haste to Neptune's realm,
Whereas the wind-god, warring now with fate,
Besiege[s] th' offspring of our kindly loins:
Charge him from me to turn his stormy powers,
And fetter them in Vulcan's sturdy brass,
That durst thus proudly wrong our kinsman's peace. [_Exit_ HERMES.
Venus, farewell: thy son shall be our care.-- 120
Come, Ganymede, we must about this gear.[443]
[_Exeunt_ JUPITER _and_ GANYMEDE.
_Ven._[444] Disquiet seas, lay down your swelling looks,
And court Æneas with your calmy cheer,
Whose beauteous burden well might make you proud,
Had not the heavens, conceiv'd with hell-born clouds,
Veil'd his resplendent glory from your view:
For my sake, pity him, Oceanus,
That erst-while issu'd from thy watery loins,
And had my being from thy bubbling froth.
Triton, I know, hath filled his trump with Troy, 130
And therefore will take pity on his toil,
And call both Thetis and Cymothoe[445]
To succour him in this extremity.
_Enter_ ÆNEAS, ASCANIUS,
ACHATES, _and others._
What do I see? my son now come on shore?
Venus, how art thou compassed with content,
The while thine eyes attract their sought-for joys!
Great Jupiter, still honoured mayst thou be
For this so friendly aid in time of need!
Here in this bush disguisèd will I stand,
Whiles my Æneas spends himself in plaints, 140
And heaven and earth with his unrest acquaints.
_Æn._ You sons of care, companions of my course,
Priam's misfortune follows us[2] by sea,
And Helen's rape doth haunt us[446] at our heels.
How many dangers have we overpass'd!
Both barking Scylla,[447] and the sounding rocks,
The Cyclops' shelves, and grim Ceraunia's seat,
Have you o'ergone, and yet remain alive.
Pluck up your hearts, since Fate still rests our friend,
And changing heavens may those good days return, 150
Which Pergama did vaunt in all her pride.
_Ach._ Brave prince of Troy, thou only art our god,
That by thy virtues free'st us from annoy,
And makes our hopes survive to coming[448] joys:
Do thou but smile, and cloudy heaven will clear,
Whose night and day descendeth from thy brows.
Though we be now in extreme misery,
And rest the map of weather-beaten woe,[449]
Yet shall the agèd sun shed forth his hair,[450]
To make us live unto our former heat, 160
And every beast the forest doth send forth
Bequeath her young ones to our scanted food.
_Asc._ Father, I faint; good father, give me meat.
_Æn._ Alas! sweet boy, thou must be still a while,
Till we have fire to dress the meat we killed!
Gentle Achates, reach the tinder-box,
That we may make a fire to warm us with,
And roast our new-found victuals on this shore.
_Ven._ See, what strange arts necessity finds out!
How near, my sweet Æneas, art thou driven! [_Aside._
_Æn._ Hold; take this candle, and go light a fire; 171
You shall have leaves and windfall boughs enow,
Near to these woods, to roast your meat withal.--
Ascanius, go and dry thy drenchèd limbs,
Whiles I with my Achates rove abroad,
To know what coast the wind hath driven us on,
Or whether men or beasts inhabit it.
[_Exeunt_ ASCANIUS _and others._
_Ach._ The air is pleasant, and the soil most fit
For cities and society's supports;
Yet much I marvel that I cannot find 180
No steps of men imprinted in the earth.
_Ven._ Now is the time for me to play my part.-- [_Aside._
Ho, young men! saw you, as you came,[451]
Any of all my sisters wandering here,
Having a quiver girded to her side,
And clothèd in a spotted leopard's skin?
_Æn._ I neither saw nor heard of any such.
But what may I, fair virgin, call your name,
Whose looks set forth no mortal form to view,
Nor speech bewrays aught human in thy birth? 190
Thou art a goddess that delud'st our eyes,
And shrouds thy beauty in this borrow'd shape;
But whether thou the Sun's bright sister be,
Or one of chaste Diana's fellow-nymphs,
Live happy in the height of all content,
And lighten our extremes with this one boon,
As to instruct us under what good heaven
We breathe as now, and what this world is called
On which by tempests' fury we are cast:
Tell us, O, tell us, that are ignorant! 200
And this right hand shall make thy altars crack
With mountain-heaps of milk-white sacrifice.
_Ven._ Such honour, stranger, do I not affect:
It is the use for Tyrian[452] maids to wear
Their bow and quiver in this modest sort,
And suit themselves in purple for the nonce,
That they may trip more lightly o'er the lawnds,[453]
And overtake the tuskèd boar in chase.
But for the land whereof thou dost inquire,
It is the Punic kingdom, rich and strong, 210
Adjoining on Agenor's stately town,
The kingly seat of Southern Libya,
Whereas Sidonian Dido rules as queen.
But what are you that ask of me these things?
Whence may you come, or whither will you go?
_Æn._ Of Troy am I, Æneas is my name;
Who, driven by war from forth my native world,
Put sails to sea to seek out Italy;
And my divine descent from sceptred Jove:
With twice twelve Phrygian ships I plough'd the deep, 220
And made that way my mother Venus led;
But of them all scarce seven do anchor safe,
And they so wrecked and weltered by the waves,
As every tide tilts 'twixt their oaken sides;
And all of them, unburdened of their load,
Are ballassèd with billows' watery weight.
But hapless I, God wot, poor and unknown,
Do trace these Libyan deserts, all despised,
Exiled forth Europe and wide Asia both,
And have not any coverture but heaven. 230
_Ven._ Fortune hath favour'd thee, whate'er thou be,
In sending thee unto this courteous coast.
A' God's name, on! and haste 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 perish'd in the storm,
But are arrivèd safe, not far from hence:
And so I leave thee to thy fortune's lot,
Wishing good luck unto thy wandering steps. [_Exit._
_Æn._ Achates, 'tis my mother that is fled; 240
I know her by the movings of her feet.--
Stay, gentle Venus, fly not from thy son!
Too cruel, why wilt thou forsake me thus,
Or in these shades[454] deceiv'st mine eyes so oft?
Why talk we not together hand in hand,
And tell our griefs in more familiar terms?
But thou art gone, and leav'st me here alone,
To dull the air with my discoursive moan.
[_Exuent._
SCENE II.
_Enter_[455] IARBUS, _followed by_ ILIONEUS,
CLOANTHUS,[456] SERGESTUS, _and others_.
_Ili._ Follow, ye Trojans, follow this brave lord,
And plain to him the sum of your distress.
_Iar._ Why, what are you, or wherefore do you sue?
_Ili._ Wretches[457] of Troy, envied of the winds,
That crave such favour at your honour's feet
As poor distressèd misery may plead:
Save, save, O, save our ships from cruel fire,
That do complain the wounds of thousand waves,
And spare our lives, whom every spite pursues!
We come not, we, to wrong your Libyan gods, 10
Or steal your household Lares from their shrines;
Our hands are not prepared to lawless spoil.
Nor armèd to offend in any kind;
Such force is far from our unweapon'd thoughts
Whose fading weal, of victory forsook,
Forbids all hope to harbour near our hearts.
_Iar._ But tell me, Trojans, Trojans if you be,
Unto what fruitful quarters were ye bound,
Before that Boreas buckled with[458] your sails?
_Clo._ There is a place, Hesperia termed by us, 20
An ancient empire, famousèd for arms,
And fertile in fair Ceres' furrowed wealth,
Which now we call Italia, of his name
That in such peace long time did rule the same.
Thither made we;
When, suddenly, gloomy Orion rose,
And led our ships into the shallow sands,
Whereas the southern wind with brackish breath
Dispersed them all amongst the wreckful rocks:
From thence a few of us escaped to land; 30
The rest, we fear, are folded in the floods.
_Iar._ Brave men-at-arms, abandon fruitless fears,
Since Carthage knows to entertain distress.
_Serg._ I, but the barbarous sort do threat our ships,
And will not let us lodge upon the sands;
In multitudes they swarm unto the shore,
And from the first earth interdict our feet.
_Iar._ Myself will see they shall not trouble ye:
Your men and you shall banquet in our court,
And every Trojan be as welcome here 40
As Jupiter to silly Baucis'[459] house.
Come in with me; I'll bring ye to my queen,
Who shall confirm my words with further deeds.
_Serg._ Thanks, gentle lord, for such unlook'd-for grace:
Might we but once more see Æneas' face,
Then would we hope to quite such friendly turns,
As shall[460] surpass the wonder of our speech.
[_Exeunt._
ACT II.
SCENE I.
_Enter_[461] ÆNEAS, ACHATES, ASCANIUS, _and others_.
_Æn._ Where am I now? these should be Carthage-walls.
_Ach._ Why stands my sweet Æneas thus amaz'd?
_Æn._ O my Achates, Theban Niobe,
Who for her sons' death wept out life and breath,
And, dry with grief, was turned into a stone,
Had not such passions in her head as I!
Methinks,
That town there should be Troy, yon Ida's hill,
There Xanthus' stream, because here's Priamus;
And when I know it is not, then I die. 10
_Ach._ And in this humour is Achates too;
I cannot choose but fall upon my knees,
And kiss his hand. O, where is Hecuba?
Here she was wont to sit; but, saving air,
Is nothing here; and what is this but stone?[462]
_Æn._ O, yet this stone doth make Æneas weep!
And would my prayers (as Pygmalion's did)
Could give it life, that under his condùct
We might sail back to Troy, and be revenged
On these hard-hearted Grecians which rejoice 20
That nothing now is left of Priamus!
O, Priamus is left, and this is he!
Come, come aboard; pursue the hateful Greeks.
_Ach._ What means Æneas?
_Æn._ Achates, though mine eyes say this is stone,
Yet thinks my mind that this is Priamus;
And when my grievèd heart sighs and says no,
Then would it leap out to give Priam life.--
O, were I not at all, so thou mightst be;--
Achates, see, King Priam wags his hand! 30
He is alive; Troy is not overcome!
_Ach._ Thy mind, Æneas, that would have it so,
Deludes thy eye-sight; Priamus is dead.
_Æn._ Ah, Troy is sack'd, and Priamus is dead!
And why should poor Æneas be alive?
_Asc._ Sweet father, leave to weep; this is not he,
For, were it Priam, he would smile on me.
_Ach._ Æneas, see, here come the citizens:
Leave to lament, lest they laugh at our fears.[463]
_Enter_ CLOANTHUS, SERGESTUS, ILIONEUS, _and others_.
_Æn._ Lords of this town, or whatsoever style 40
Belongs unto your name, vouchsafe of ruth
To tell us who inhabits this fair town,
What kind of people, and who governs them;
For we are strangers driven on this shore,
And scarcely know within what clime we are.
_Ili._ I hear Æneas' voice, but see him not,[464]
For none of these can be our general.
_Ach._ Like Ilioneus speaks this nobleman,
But Ilioneus goes not in such robes.
_Serg._ You are Achates, or I [am] deceiv'd. 50
_Ach._ Æneas, see, Sergestus, or his ghost!
_Ili._ He names[465] Æneas; let us kiss his feet.
_Clo._ It is our captain; see, Ascanius!
_Serg._ Live long Æneas and Ascanius!
_Æn._ Achates, speak, for I am overjoyed.
_Ach._ O Ilioneus, art thou yet alive?
_Ili._ Blest be the time I see Achates' face!
_Clo._ Why turns Æneas from his trusty friends?
_Æn._ Sergestus, Ilioneus, and the rest,
Your sight amazed me. O, what destinies 60
Have brought my sweet companions in such plight?
O, tell me, for I long to be resolved!
_Ili._ Lovely Æneas, these are Carthage-walls;
And here Queen Dido wears th' imperial crown,
Who for Troy's sake hath entertained us all,
And clad us in these wealthy robes we wear.
Oft hath she asked us under whom we served;
And, when we told her, she would weep for grief,
Thinking the sea had swallowed up thy ships;
And, now she sees thee, how will she rejoice! 70
_Serg._ See, where her servitors pass through the hall,[466]
Bearing a banquet: Dido is not far.
_Ili._ Look, where she comes; Æneas, view[467] her well.
_Æn._ Well may I view her; but she sees not me.
_Enter_ DIDO, ANNA, IARBAS, _and train_.
_Dido._ What stranger art thou, that dost eye me thus?
_Æn._ Sometime I was a Trojan, mighty queen;
But Troy is not:--what shall I say I am?
_Ili._ Renowmèd Dido, 'tis our general,
Warlike Æneas.
_Dido._ Warlike Æneas, and in these base robes! 80
Go fetch the garment which Sichæus ware.--
[_Exit an_ Attendant, _who brings in the garment,
which_ ÆNEAS _puts on_.
Brave prince, welcome to Carthage and to me,
Both happy that Æneas is our guest.
Sit in this chair, and banquet with a queen:
Æneas is Æneas, were he clad
In weeds as bad as ever Irus ware.
_Æn._ This is no seat for one that's comfortless:
May it please your grace to let Æneas wait;
For though my birth be great, my fortune's mean,
Too mean to be companion to a queen. 90
_Dido._ Thy fortune may be greater than thy birth:
Sit down, Æneas, sit in Dido's place;
And, if this be thy son, as I suppose,
Here let him sit.--Be merry, lovely child.
_Æn._ This place beseems me not; O, pardon me!
_Dido._ I'll have it so; Æneas, be content.
_Asc._ Madam, you shall be my mother.
_Dido._ And so I will, sweet child.--Be merry, man:
Here's to thy better fortune and good stars. [_Drinks._
_Æn._ In all humility, I thank your grace. 100
_Dido._ Remember who thou art; speak like thyself:
Humility belongs to common grooms.
_Æn._ And who so miserable as Æneas is?
_Dido._ Lies it in Dido's hands to make thee blest?
Then be assur'd thou art not miserable.
_Æn._ O Priamus, O Troy, O Hecuba!
_Dido._ May I entreat thee to discourse at large,
And truly too, how Troy was overcome?
For many tales go of that city's fall,
And scarcely do agree upon one point: 110
Some say Antenor did betray the town;
Others report 'twas Sinon's perjury;
But all in this, that Troy is overcome,
And Priam dead; yet how, we hear no news.
_Æn._ A woful tale bids Dido to unfold,
Whose memory, like pale Death's stony mace,
Beats forth my senses from this troubled soul,
And makes Æneas sink at Dido's feet.
_Dido._ What, faints Æneas to remember Troy,
In whose defence he fought so valiantly? 120
Look up, and speak.
_Æn._ Then speak Æneas, with Achilles' tongue:
And, Dido, and you Carthaginian peers,
Hear me; but yet with Myrmidons' harsh ears,
Daily inured to broils and massacres,
Lest you be mov'd too much with my sad tale.
The Grecian soldiers, tir'd with ten years' war,
Began to cry, "Let us unto our ships,
Troy is invincible, why stay we here?"
With whose outcries Atrides being appalled 130
Summon'd the captains to his princely tent;
Who, looking on the scars we Trojans gave,
Seeing the number of their men decreas'd,
And the remainder weak and out of heart,
Gave up their voices to dislodge the camp,
And so in troops all marched to Tenedos;[468]
Where when they came, Ulysses on the sand
Assayed with honey words to turn them back;
And, as he spoke, to further his intent,
The winds did drive huge billows to the shore, 140
And heaven was darkened with tempestuous clouds;
Then he alleg'd the gods would have them stay,
And prophesied Troy should be overcome:
And therewithal he call'd false Sinon forth,
A man compact of craft and perjury,
Whose ticing tongue was made of Hermes' pipe,
To force an hundred watchful eyes to sleep;
And him, Epeus having made the horse,
With sacrificing wreaths upon his head,
Ulysses sent to our unhappy town; 150
Who, grovelling in the mire of Xanthus' banks,
His hands bound at his back, and both his eyes
Turned up to heaven, as one resolved to die,
Our Phrygian shepherd[s] haled within the gates,
And brought unto the court of Priamus;
To whom he used action so pitiful,
Looks so remorseful, vows so forcible,
As therewithal the old man overcome,
Kissed him, embraced him, and unloosed his bands;
And then--O Dido, pardon me! 160
_Dido._ Nay, leave not here; resolve me of the rest.
_Æn._ O, th' enchanting words of that base slave
Made him to think Epeus' pine-tree horse
A sacrifice t' appease Minerva's wrath!
The rather, for that one Laocoon,
Breaking a spear upon his hollow breast,
Was with two wingèd serpents stung to death.
Whereat aghast, we were commanded straight
With reverence to draw it into Troy:
In which unhappy work was I employed; 170
These hands did help to hale it to the gates,
Through which it could not enter, 'twas so huge,--
O, had it never enter'd, Troy had stood!
But Priamus, impatient of delay,
Enforced a wide breach in that rampired wall
Which thousand battering-rams could never pierce,
And so came in this fatal instrument:
At whose accursèd feet, as overjoyed,
We banqueted, till, overcome with wine,
Some surfeited, and others soundly slept. 180
Which Sinon viewing, caus'd the Greekish spies
To haste to Tenedos, and tell the camp:
Then he unlocked the horse; and suddenly,
From out his entrails, Neoptolemus,
Setting his spear upon the ground, leapt forth,
And, after him, a thousand Grecians more,
In whose stern faces shined the quenchless[469] fire
That after burnt the pride of Asia.
By this, the camp was come unto the walls,
And through the breach did march into the streets, 190
Where, meeting with the rest; "Kill, kill!" they cried.
Frighted with this confusèd noise, I rose,
And, looking from a turret, might behold
Young infants swimming in their parents' blood,
Headless carcases pilèd up in heaps,
Virgins half-dead, dragged by their golden hair,
And with main force flung on a ring[470] of pikes,
Old men with swords thrust through their agèd sides,
Kneeling for mercy to a Greekish lad, 200
Who with steel pole-axes dash'd out their brains.
Then buckled I mine armour, drew my sword,
And thinking to go down, came Hector's ghost,[471]
With ashy visage, blueish sulphur eyes,
His arms torn from his shoulders, and his breast
Furrowed with wounds, and, that which made me weep,
Thongs at his heels, by which Achilles' horse
Drew him in triumph through the Greekish camp,
Burst from the earth, crying "Æneas, fly!
Troy is a-fire, the Grecians have the town!" 210
_Dido._ O Hector, who weeps not to hear thy name?
_Æn._ Yet flung I forth, and, desperate of my life,
Ran in the thickest throngs, and with this sword
Sent many of their savage ghosts to hell.
At last came Pyrrhus, fell and full of ire,
His harness[472] dropping blood, and on his spear
The mangled head of Priam's youngest son;
And, after him, his band of Myrmidons,
With balls of wild-fire in their murdering paws,
Which made the funeral flame that burnt fair Troy; 220
All which hemmed me about, crying, "This is he!"
_Dido._ Ah, how could poor Æneas scape their hands?
_Æn._ My mother Venus, jealous of my health,
Convey'd me from their crookèd nets and bands;
So I escaped the furious Pyrrhus' wrath:
Who then ran to the palace of the king,
And at Jove's altar finding Priamus,
About whose withered neck hung Hecuba,
Folding his hand in hers, and jointly both
Beating their breasts, and falling on the ground,
He, with his falchion's point raised up at once, 230
And with Megæra's eyes, star'd in their face,
Threatening a thousand deaths at every glance:
To whom the agèd king thus, trembling, spoke;
"Achilles' son, remember what I was,
Father of fifty sons, but they are slain;
Lord of my fortune, but my fortune's turned:
King of this city, but my Troy is fired;
And now am neither father, lord, or king:
Yet who so wretched but desires to live?
O, let me live, great Neoptolemus!" 240
Not moved at all, but smiling at his tears,
This butcher, whilst his hands were yet held up,
Treading upon his breast, struck off his hands.
_Dido._ O, end, Æneas! I can hear no more.
_Æn._ At which the frantic queen leaped on his face,
And in his eyelids hanging by the nails,
A little while prolonged her husband's life.
At last, the soldiers pull'd her by the heels,
And swung her howling in the empty air,
Which sent an echo to the wounded king: 250
Whereat he lifted up his bed-rid limbs,
And would have grappled with Achilles' son,
Forgetting both his want of strength and hands;
Which he disdaining, whisk'd his sword about,
And with the wind thereof the king fell down;[473]
Then from the navel to the throat at once
He ripp'd old Priam; at whose latter gasp
Jove's marble statue gan to bend the brow,
As loathing Pyrrhus for this wicked act.
Yet he, undaunted, took his father's flag, 260
And dipped it in the old king's chill-cold blood,
And then in triumph ran into the streets,
Through which he could not pass for slaughter'd men;
So, leaning on his sword, he stood stone-still,
Viewing the fire wherewith rich Ilion burnt.
By this, I got my father on my back,
This young boy in mine arms, and by the hand
Led fair Creusa, my belovèd wife;
When thou, Achates, with thy sword mad'st way,
And we were round environed with the Greeks: 270
O, there I lost my wife! and, had not we
Fought manfully, I had not told this tale.
Yet manhood would not serve; of force we fled;
And, as we went unto our ships, thou know'st
We saw Cassandra sprawling in the streets,
Whom Ajax ravished in Diana's fane,[474]
Her cheeks swollen with sighs, her hair all rent;
Whom I took up to bear unto our ships;
But suddenly the Grecians followed us,
And I, alas, was forced to let her lie! 280
Then got we to our ships, and, being aboard,
Polyxena cried out, "Æneas, stay!
The Greeks pursue me; stay, and take me in!"
Moved with her voice, I leap'd into the sea,
Thinking to bear her on my back aboard,
For all our ships were launched into the deep,
And, as I swom, she, standing on the shore,
Was by the cruel Myrmidons surprised,
And, after that, by[475] Pyrrhus sacrificed.
_Dido._ I die with melting ruth; Æneas, leave.[476] 290
_Anna._ O, what became of agèd Hecuba?
_Iar._ How got Æneas to the fleet again?
_Dido._ But how scaped Helen, she that caus'd this war?
_Æn._ Achates, speak; sorrow hath tir'd me quite.
_Ach._ What happen'd to the queen we cannot show;
We hear they led her captive into Greece:
As for Æneas, he swom quickly back;
And Helena betrayed Deiphobus,
Her lover, after Alexander died,
And so was reconciled to Menelaus. 300
_Dido._ O, had that ticing strumpet ne'er been born!--
Trojan, thy ruthful tale hath made me sad:
Come, let us think upon some pleasing sport,
To rid me from these melancholy thoughts.
[_Exeunt all except_ ASCANIUS, _whom_ VENUS, _entering with_ CUPID
_at another door, takes by the sleeve as he is going off_.
_Ven._ Fair child, stay thou with Dido's waiting-maid:
I'll give thee sugar-almonds, sweet conserves,
A silver girdle, and a golden purse,
And this young prince shall be thy playfellow.
_Asc._ Are you Queen Dido's son?
_Cup._ I; and my mother gave me this fine bow. 310
_Asc._ Shall I have such a quiver and a bow?
_Ven._ Such bow, such quiver, and such golden shafts,
Will Dido give to sweet Ascanius.
For Dido's sake I take thee in my arms,
And stick these spangled feathers in thy hat:
Eat comfits in mine arms, and I will sing. [_Sings._
Now is he fast asleep; and in his grove,[477]
Amongst green brakes, I'll lay Ascanius,
And strew him with sweet-smelling violets,
Blushing roses, purple hyacinth: 320
These milk-white doves shall be his centronels,[478]
Who, if that any seek to do him hurt,
Will quickly fly to Cytherea's[479] fist.
Now, Cupid, turn thee to Ascanius' shape,
And go to Dido, who, instead 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 Æneas' love,
And by that means repair his broken ships,
Victual his soldiers, give him wealthy gifts, 330
And he, at last, depart to Italy,
Or else in Carthage make his kingly throne.
_Cup._ I will, fair mother; and so play my part
As every touch shall wound Queen Dido's heart. [_Exit._
_Ven._ Sleep, my sweet nephew,[480] in these cooling shades,
Free from the murmur of these running streams,
The cry of beasts, the rattling of the winds,
Or whisking of these leaves: all shall be still,
And nothing interrupt thy quiet sleep,
Till I return, and take thee hence again. 340
[_Exit._
ACT III.
SCENE I.
_Enter_[481] CUPID _as_ ASCANIUS.
_Cup._ Now, Cupid, cause the Carthaginian queen
To be enamour'd of thy brother's looks:
Convey this golden arrow in thy sleeve,
Lest she imagine thou art Venus' son;
And when she strokes thee softly on the head,
Then shall I touch her breast and conquer her.
_Enter_ DIDO, ANNA, _and_ IARBAS.
_Iar._ How long, fair Dido, shall I pine for thee?
'Tis not enough that thou dost grant me love,
But that I may enjoy what I desire:
That love is childish which consists in words. 10
_Dido._ Iarbas, know, that thou, of all my wooers,--
And yet have I had many mightier kings,--
Hast had the greatest favours I could give.
I fear me, Dido hath been counted light
In being too familiar with Iarbas;
Albeit the gods do know, no wanton thought
Had ever residence in Dido's breast.
_Iar._ But Dido is the favour I request.
_Dido._ Fear not, Iarbas; Dido may be thine.
_Anna._ Look, sister, how Æneas' little son 20
Plays with your garments and embraceth you.
_Cup._ No, Dido will not take me in her arms;
I shall not be her son, she loves me not.
_Dido._ Weep not, sweet boy; thou shalt be Dido's son:
Sit in my lap, and let me hear thee sing. [CUPID _sings_.
No more, my child; now talk another while,
And tell me where learn'dst thou this pretty song.
_Cup._ My cousin Helen taught it me in Troy.
_Dido._ How lovely is Ascanius when he smiles!
_Cup._ Will Dido let me hang about her neck? 30
_Dido._ I, wag; and give thee leave to kiss her too.
_Cup._ What will you give me now? I'll have this fan.
_Dido._ Take it, Ascanius, for thy father's sake.
_Iar._ Come, Dido, leave Ascanius; let us walk.
_Dido._ Go thou away; Ascanius shall stay.
_Iar._ Ungentle queen, is this thy love to me?
_Dido._ O, stay, Iarbas, and I'll go with thee!
_Cup._ An if my mother go, I'll follow her.
_Dido._ Why stay'st thou here? thou art no love of mine.
_Iar._ Iarbas, die, seeing she abandons thee! 40
_Dido._ No; live, Iarbas: What hast thou deserved,
That I should say thou art no love of mine?
Something thou hast deserved.--Away, I say!
Depart from Carthage; come not in my sight.
_Iar._ Am I not king of rich Gætulia?
_Dido._ Iarbas, pardon me, and stay a while.
_Cup._ Mother, look here.
_Dido._ What tell'st thou me of rich Gætulia?
Am not I queen of Libya? then depart.
_Iar._ I go to feed the humour of my love, 50
Yet not from Carthage for a thousand worlds.
_Dido._ Iarbas!
_Iar._ Doth Dido call me back?
_Dido._ No; but I charge thee never look on me.
_Iar._ Then pull out both mine eyes, or let me die. [_Exit._
_Anna._ Wherefore doth Dido bid Iarbas go?
_Dido._ Because his loathsome sight offends mine eye,
And in my thoughts is shrined another love.
O Anna, didst thou know how sweet love were,
Full soon wouldst thou abjure this single life!
_Anna._ Poor soul, I know too well the sour of love: 60
O, that Iarbas could but fancy me! [_Aside._
_Dido._ Is not Æneas fair and beautiful?
_Anna._ Yes; and Iarbas foul and favourless.
_Dido._ Is he not eloquent in all his speech?
_Anna._ Yes; and Iarbas rude and rustical.
_Dido._ Name not Iarbas: but, sweet Anna, say,
Is not Æneas worthy Dido's love?
_Anna._ O sister, were you empress of the world,
Æneas well deserves to be your love!
So lovely is he, that, where'er he goes, 70
The people swarm to gaze him in the face.
_Dido._ But tell them, none shall gaze on him but I,
Lest their gross eye-beams taint my lover's cheeks.
Anna, good sister Anna, go for him,
Lest with these sweet thoughts I melt clean away.
_Anna._ Then, sister, you'll abjure Iarbas' love?
_Dido._ Yet must I hear that loathsome name again?
Run for Æneas, or I'll fly to him. [_Exit_ ANNA.
_Cup._ You shall not hurt my father when he comes.
_Dido._ No; for thy sake I'll love thy father well.-- 80
O dull-conceited Dido, that till now
Didst never think Æneas beautiful!
But now, for quittance of this oversight,
I'll make me bracelets of his golden hair;
His glistering eyes shall be my looking-glass;
His lips an altar, where I'll offer up[482]
As many kisses as the sea hath sands;
Instead of music I will hear him speak;
His looks shall be my only library;
And thou, Æneas, Dido's treasury, 90
In whose fair bosom I will lock more wealth
Than twenty thousand Indias can afford.
O, here he comes! Love, love, give Dido leave
To be more modest than her thoughts admit,
Lest I be made a wonder to the world.
_Enter_ ÆNEAS, ACHATES, SERGESTUS, ILIONEUS, _and_ CLOANTHUS.
Achates, how doth Carthage please your lord?
_Ach._ That will Æneas show your majesty.
_Dido._ Æneas, art thou there?
_Æn._ I understand your highness sent for me.
_Dido._ No; but, now thou art here, tell me, in sooth, 100
In what might Dido highly pleasure thee.
_Æn._ So much have I receiv'd at Dido's hands,
As, without blushing, I can ask no more:
Yet, queen of Afric, are my ships unrigg'd,
My sails all rent in sunder with the wind,
My oars broken, and my tackling lost,
Yea, all my navy split with rocks and shelves;
Nor stern nor anchor have our maimèd fleet;
Our masts the furious winds struck overboard:
Which piteous wants if Dido will supply, 110
We will account her author of our lives.
_Dido._ Æneas, I'll repair thy Trojan ships,
Conditionally that thou wilt stay with me,
And let Achates sail to Italy:
I'll give thee tackling made of rivelled[483] gold,
Wound on the barks of odoriferous trees;[484]
Oars of massy ivory, full of holes,
Through which the water shall delight to play;
Thy anchors shall be hewed from crystal rocks,
Which, if thou lose, shall shine above the waves; 120
The masts, whereon thy swelling sails shall hang,
Hollow pyramides of silver plate;
The sails of folded lawn, where shall be wrought
The wars of Troy,--but not Troy's overthrow;
For ballace,[485] empty Dido's treasury:
Take what ye will, but leave Æneas here.
Achates, thou shalt be so seemly[486] clad,
As sea-born nymphs shall swarm about thy ships,
And wanton mermaids court thee with sweet songs,
Flinging in favours of more sovereign worth 130
Than Thetis hangs about Apollo's neck,
So that Æneas may but stay with me.
_Æn._ Wherefore would Dido have Æneas stay?
_Dido._ To war against my bordering enemies.
Æneas, think not Dido is in love;
For, if that any man could conquer me,
I had been wedded ere Æneas came:
See, where the pictures of my suitors hang;
And are not these as fair as fair may be?
_Ach._ I saw this man at Troy, ere Troy was sack'd. 140
_Æn._[487] I this in Greece, when Paris stole fair Helen.
_Ili._ This man and I were at Olympia's[488] games,
_Serg._ I know this face; he is a Persian born:
I travell'd with him to Ætolia.
_Cloan._ And I in Athens with this gentleman,
Unless I be deceived, disputed once.
_Dido._ But speak, Æneas; know you none of these?
_Æn._ No, madam; but it seems that these are kings.
_Dido._ All these, and others which I never saw,
Have been most urgent suitors for my love; 150
Some came in person, others sent their legates,
Yet none obtained me: I am free from all;
And yet, God knows, entangled unto one.
This was an orator, and thought by words
To compass me: but yet he was deceiv'd:
And this a Spartan courtier, vain and wild;
But his fantastic humours pleased not me:
This was Alcion, a musician;
But, play'd he ne'er so sweet, I let him go:
This was the wealthy king of Thessaly; 160
But I had gold enough, and cast him off:
This, Meleager's son, a warlike prince;
But weapons gree not with my tender years:
The rest are such as all the world well knows:
Yet now[489] I swear, by heaven and him I love,
I was as far from love as they from hate.
_Æn._ O, happy shall he be whom Dido loves!
_Dido._ Then never say that thou art miserable,
Because, it may be, thou shalt be my love,
Yet boast not of it, for I love thee not,-- 170
And yet I hate thee not.--O, if I speak,
I shall betray myself! [_Aside._]--Æneas, come:[490]
We too will go a-hunting in the woods;
But not so much for thee,--thou art but one,--
As for Achates and his followers. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_[491] JUNO _to_ ASCANIUS, _who lies asleep_.
_Juno._ Here lies my hate, Æneas' cursèd brat,
The boy wherein false Destiny delights,
The heir of Fury,[492] the favourite of the Fates,[493]
That ugly imp that shall outwear my wrath,
And wrong my deity with high disgrace.
But I will take another order now,
And raze th' eternal register of Time:
Troy shall no more call him her second hope,
Nor Venus triumph in his tender youth;
For here, in spite of Heaven, I'll murder him, 10
And feed infection with his let-out[494] life.
Say, Paris, now shall Venus have the ball?
Say, vengeance, now shall her Ascanius die?
O no! God wot, I cannot watch my time,
Nor quit good turns with double fee down told:
Tut, I am simple, without mind[495] to hurt,
And have no gall at all to grieve my foes!
But lustful Jove and his adulterous child
Shall find it written on confusion's front,
That only Juno rules in Rhamnus town.[496] 20
_Enter_ VENUS.
_Ven._ What should this mean? my doves are back return'd
Who warn me of such danger prest[497] at hand
To harm my sweet Ascanius' lovely life.--
Juno, my mortal foe, what make you here?
Avaunt, old witch! and trouble not my wits.
_Juno._ Fie, Venus, that such causeless words of wrath
Should e'er defile so fair a mouth as thine!
Are not we both sprung of celestial race,
And banquet, as two sisters, with the gods?
Why is it, then, displeasure should disjoin 30
Whom kindred and acquaintance co-unites?
_Ven._ Out, hateful hag! thou wouldst have slain my son,
Had not my doves discovered thy intent:
But I will tear thy eyes fro forth thy head,
And feast the birds with their blood-shotten balls,
If thou but lay thy fingers on my boy.
_Juno._ Is this, then, all the thanks that I shall have
For saving him from snakes' and serpents' stings,
That would have killed him, sleeping, as he lay?
What, though I was offended with thy son, 40
And wrought him mickle woe on sea and land,
When, for the hate of Trojan Ganymede,[498]
That was advancèd by my Hebe's shame,
And Paris' judgment of the heavenly ball,
I mustered all the winds unto his wreck,
And urg'd each element to his annoy?
Yet now I do repent me of his ruth,
And wish that I had never wrong'd him so.
Bootless, I saw, it was to war with fate
That hath so many unresisted[499] friends: 50
Wherefore I changed[500] my counsel with the time,
And planted love where envy erst had sprung.
_Ven._ Sister of Jove, if that thy love be such
As these thy protestations do paint forth,
We two, as friends, one fortune will divide:
Cupid shall lay his arrows in thy lap,
And to a sceptre change his golden shafts;
Fancy[501] and modesty shall live as mates,
And thy fair peacocks by my pigeons perch:
Love, my Æneas, and desire is thine; 60
The day, the night, my swans, my sweets, are thine.
_Juno._ More than melodious are these words to me,
That overcloy my soul with their content.
Venus, sweet Venus, how may I deserve
Such amorous favours at thy beauteous hand?
But, that thou mayst more easily perceive
How highly I do prize this amity,
Hark to a motion of eternal league,
Which I will make in quittance of thy love.
Thy son, thou know'st, with Dido now remains, 70
And feeds his eyes with favours of her court;
She, likewise, in admiring spends her time,
And cannot talk nor think of aught but him:
Why should not they, then, join in marriage,
And bring forth mighty kings to Carthage-town,
Whom casualty of sea hath made such friends?
And, Venus, let there be a match confirm'd
Betwixt these two, whose loves are so alike;
And both our deities, conjoin'd in one,
Shall chain felicity unto their throne. 80
_Ven._ Well could I like this reconcilement's means;
But much I fear my son will ne'er consent,
Whose armèd soul, already on the sea,
Darts forth her light [un]to Lavinia's shore.
_Juno._ Fair queen of love, I will divorce these doubts,
And find my way to weary such fond thoughts.
This day they both a-hunting forth will ride
Into the[502] woods adjoining to these walls;
When, in the midst of all their gamesome sports,
I'll make the clouds dissolve their watery works, 90
And drench Silvanus' dwellings with their showers;
Then in one cave the queen and he shall meet,
And interchangeably discourse their thoughts,
Whose short conclusion will seal up their hearts
Unto the purpose which we now propound.
_Ven._ Sister, I see you savour of my wiles:
Be it as you will have [it] for this once.
Meantime Ascanius shall be my charge;
Whom I will bear to Ida in mine arms,
And couch him in Adonis' purple down. 100
[_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_Enter_[503] DIDO, ÆNEAS, ANNA, IARBAS, ACHATES, CUPID
_as_ ASCANIUS, _and_ Followers.
_Dido._ Æneas, think not but I honour thee,
That thus in person go with thee to hunt:
My princely robes, thou see'st, are laid aside,
Whose glittering pomp Diana's shroud[504] supplies;
All fellows now, disposed alike to sport;
The woods are wide, and we have store of game.
Fair Trojan, hold my golden bow a while,
Until I gird my quiver to my side.--
Lords, go before; we two must talk alone.
_Iar._ Ungentle, can she wrong Iarbas so? 10
I'll die before a stranger have that grace.
"We two will talk alone"--what words be these! [_Aside._
_Dido._ What makes Iarbas here of all the rest?
We could have gone without your company.
_Æn._ But love and duty led him on perhaps
To press beyond acceptance to your sight.
_Iar._ Why! man of Troy, do I offend thine eyes?
Or art thou grieved thy betters press so nigh?
_Dido._ How now, Gætulian! are you grown so brave,
To challenge us with your comparisons? 20
Peasant, go seek companions like thyself,
And meddle not with any that I love.--
Æneas, be not moved at what he says;
For otherwhile he will be out of joint.
_Iar._ Women may wrong by privilege of love;
But, should that man of men, Dido except,
Have taunted me in these opprobrious terms,
I would have either drunk his dying blood,
Or else I would have given my life in gage. 29
_Dido._ Huntsmen, why pitch you not your toils apace,
And rouse the light-foot deer from forth their lair?
_Anna._ Sister, see, see Ascanius in his pomp,
Bearing his hunt-spear bravely in his hand!
_Dido._ Yea, little son, are you so forward now?
_Cup._ I, mother; I shall one day be a man,
And better able unto other arms;
Meantime these wanton weapons serve my war,
Which I will break betwixt a lion's jaws.
_Dido._ What? dar'st thou look a lion in the face?
_Cup._ I; and outface him too, do what he can. 40
_Anna._ How like his father speaketh he in all!
_Æn._ And mought I live to see him sack rich Thebes,
And load his spear with Grecian princes' heads,
Then would I wish me with Anchises' tomb,
And dead to honour that hath brought me up.
_Iar._ And might I live to see thee shipp'd away,
And hoist aloft on Neptune's hideous hills,
Then would I wish me in fair Dido's arms,
And dead to scorn that hath pursu'd me so. [_Aside._
_Æn._ Stout friend Achates, dost thou know this wood? 50
_Ach._ As I remember, here you shot the deer
That saved your famish'd soldiers' lives from death,
When first you set your foot upon the shore;
And here we met fair Venus, virgin-like,
Bearing her bow and quiver at her back.
_Æn._ O, how these irksome labours now delight,
And overjoy my thoughts with their escape!
Who would not undergo all kind of toil,
To be well stor'd with such a winter's tale?
_Dido._ Æneas, leave these dumps, and let's away. 60
Some to the mountains, some unto the soil,[505]
You to the valleys,--thou unto the house.
[_Exeunt all except_ IARBAS.
_Iar._ I, this it is which wounds me to the death,
To see a Phrygian, far-fet[506] o'er the sea,
Preferr'd before a man of majesty.
O love! O hate! O cruel women's hearts,
That imitate the moon in every change,
And, like the planets, ever love to range!
What shall I do, thus wrongèd with disdain?
Revenge me on Æneas or on her? 70
On her! fond man, that were to war 'gainst heaven,
And with one shaft provoke ten thousand darts.
This Trojan's end will be thy envy's aim,
Whose blood will reconcile thee to content,
And make love drunken with thy sweet desire.
But Dido, that now holdeth him so dear,
Will die with very tidings of his death:
But time will discontinue her content,
And mould her mind unto new fancy's shapes,
O God of heaven, turn the hand of Fate 80
Unto that happy day of my delight!
And then--what then? Iarbas shall but love:
So doth he now, though not with equal gain;
That resteth in the rival of thy pain,
Who ne'er will cease to soar till he be slain.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_The storm. Enter_ ÆNEAS _and_ DIDO
_in the cave, at several times_.
_Dido._ Æneas!
_Æn._ Dido!
_Dido._ Tell me, dear love, how found you out this cave?
_Æn._ By chance, sweet queen, as Mars and Venus met.
_Dido._ Why, that was in a net, where we are loose;
And yet I am not free,--O, would I were!
_Æn._ Why, what is it that Dido may desire
And not obtain, be it in human power?
_Dido._ The thing that I will die before I ask,
And yet desire to have before I die. 10
_Æn_. It is not aught Æneas may achieve?
_Dido._ Æneas! no; although his eyes do pierce.
_Æn._ What, hath Iarbas anger'd her in aught?
And will she be avengèd on his life?
_Dido._ Not anger'd me, except in angering thee.
_Æn._ Who, then, of all so cruel may he be
That should detain thy eye in his defects?
_Dido._ The man that I do eye where'er I am;
Whose amorous face, like Pæan, sparkles fire,
Whenas he butts his beams on Flora's bed. 20
Prometheus hath put on Cupid's shape,
And I must perish in his burning arms:
Æneas, O Æneas, quench these flames!
_Æn._ What ails my queen? is she faln sick of late?
_Dido._ Not sick, my love; but sick I must conceal
The torment that it boots me not reveal:
And yet I'll speak,--and yet I'll hold my peace.
Do shame her worst, I will disclose my grief:
Æneas, thou art he--what did I say?
Something it was that now I have forgot. 30
_Æn._ What means fair Dido by this doubtful speech?
_Dido._ Nay, nothing; but Æneas loves me not.
_Æn._ Æneas' thoughts dare not ascend so high
As Dido's heart, which monarchs might not scale.
_Dido._ It was because I saw no king like thee,
Whose golden crown might balance my content;
But now that I have found what to affect,
I follow one that loveth fame 'fore[507] me,
And rather had seem fair [in] Sirens' eyes,
Than to the Carthage queen that dies for him. 40
_Æn._ If that your majesty can look so low
As my despisèd worths that shun all praise,
With this my hand I give to you my heart,
And vow, by all the gods of hospitality,
By heaven and earth, and my fair brother's bow,
By Paphos, Capys,[508] and the purple sea
From whence my radiant mother did ascend,[509]
And by this sword that sav'd me from the Greeks,
Never to leave these new-uprearèd walls,
Whiles Dido lives and rules in Juno's town,-- 50
Never to like or love any but her!
_Dido._ What more than Delian music do I hear,
That calls my soul from forth his living seat
To move unto the measures of delight?
Kind clouds, that sent forth such a courteous storm
As made disdain to fly to fancy's lap!
Stout love, in mine arms make thy Italy,
Whose crown and kingdom rests at thy command:
Sichæus, not Æneas, be thou call'd;
The king of Carthage, not Anchises' son. 60
Hold, take these jewels at thy lover's hand, [_Giving jewels, &c._
These golden bracelets, and this wedding-ring,
Wherewith my husband woo'd me yet a maid,
And be thou king of Libya by my gift.
[_Exeunt to the cave._
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
_Enter_[510] ACHATES, CUPID _as_ ASCANIUS, IARBAS,
_and_ ANNA.
_Ach._ Did ever men see such a sudden storm
Or day so clear so suddenly o'ercast?
_Iar._ I think some fell enchantress dwelleth here,
That can call them[511] forth whenas she please,
And dive into black tempest's treasury,
Whenas she means to mask the world with clouds.
_Anna._ In all my life I never knew the like;
It hailed, it snowed, it lightened all at once.
_Ach._ I think, it was the devil's revelling night,
There was such hurly-burly in the heavens: 10
Doubtless Apollo's axle-tree is crack'd,
Or agèd Atlas' shoulder out of joint,
The motion was so over-violent.
_Iar._ In all this coil, where have ye left the queen?
_Asc._ Nay, where's my warlike father, can you tell?
_Anna._ Behold, where both of them come forth the cave.
_Iar._ Come forth the cave! can heaven endure this sight?
Iarbas, curse that unrevenging Jove,
Whose flinty darts slept in Typhoeus'[512] den,
Whiles these adulterers surfeited with sin. 20
Nature, why mad'st me not some poisonous beast,
That with the sharpness of my edgèd sting
I might have staked them both unto the earth,
Whilst they were sporting in this darksome cave! [_Aside._
_Enter, from the cave_, ÆNEAS _and_ DIDO.
_Æn._ The air is clear, and southern winds are whist.[513]
Come, Dido, let us hasten to the town,
Since gloomy Æolus doth cease to frown.
_Dido._ Achates and Ascanius, well met.
_Æn._ Fair Anna, how escap'd you from the shower?
_Anna._ As others did, by running to the wood. 30
_Dido._ But where were you, Iarbas, all this while?
_Iar._ Not with Æneas in the ugly cave.
_Dido._ I see, Æneas sticketh in your mind;
But I will soon put by that stumbling-block,
And quell those hopes that thus employ your cares.[514]
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_[515] IARBAS _to sacrifice_.
_Iar._ Come, servants, come; bring forth the sacrifice,
That I may pacify that gloomy Jove,
Whose empty altars have enlarg'd our ills.--
[Servants _bring in the sacrifice, and then exeunt_.
Eternal Jove, great master of the clouds,
Father of gladness and all frolic thoughts,
That with thy gloomy[516] hand corrects the heaven,
When airy creatures war amongst themselves;
Hear, hear, O, hear Iarbas' plaining prayers,
Whose hideous echoes make the welkin howl,
And all the woods Eliza[517] to resound! 10
The woman that thou willed us entertain,
Where, straying in our borders up and down,
She crav'd a hide of ground to build a town,
With whom we did divide both laws and land,
And all the fruits that plenty else sends forth,
Scorning our loves and royal marriage-rites,
Yields up her beauty to a stranger's bed;
Who, having wrought her shame, is straightway fled:
Now, if thou be'st a pitying god of power,
On whom ruth and compassion ever waits, 20
Redress these wrongs, and warn him to his ships,
That now afflicts me with his flattering eyes.
_Enter_ ANNA.
_Anna._ How now, Iarbas! at your prayers so hard?
_Iar._ I, Anna: is there aught you would with me?
_Anna._ Nay, no such weighty business of import
But may be slacked until another time:
Yet, if you would partake with me the cause
Of this devotion that detaineth you,
I would be thankful for such courtesy.
_Iar._ Anna, against this Trojan do I pray, 30
Who seeks to rob me of thy sister's love,
And dive into her heart by colour'd looks.
_Anna._ Alas, poor king, that labours so in vain
For her that so delighteth in thy pain!
Be rul'd by me, and seek some other love,
Whose yielding heart may yield thee more relief.
_Iar._ Mine eye is fixed where fancy cannot start:
O, leave me, leave me to my silent thoughts,
That register the numbers of my ruth,
And I will either move the thoughtless flint, 40
Or drop out both mine eyes in drizzling tears,
Before my sorrow's tide have any stint!
_Anna._ I will not leave Iarbas, whom I love,
In this delight of dying pensiveness.
Away with Dido! Anna be thy song;
Anna, that doth admire thee more than heaven.
_Iar._ I may nor will list to such loathsome change.
That intercepts the course of my desire--
Servants, come fetch these empty vessels here;
For I will fly from these alluring eyes, 50
That do pursue my peace where'er it goes.
[_Exit._--Servants _re-enter, and carry out the vessels, &c._
_Anna._ Iarbas, stay, loving Iarbas, stay!
For I have honey to present thee with.
Hard-hearted, wilt not deign to hear me speak?
I'll follow thee with outcries ne'ertheless,
And strew thy walks with my dishevell'd hair.
[_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Enter_ ÆNEAS.[518]
_Æn._ Carthage, my friendly host, adieu!
Since Destiny doth call me from thy[519] shore:
Hermes this night, descending in a dream,
Hath summoned me to fruitful Italy;
Jove wills it so; my mother wills it so:
Let my Phoenissa grant, and then I go.
Grant she or no, Æneas must away;
Whose golden fortunes, clogg'd with courtly ease,
Cannot ascend to fame's immortal house,
Or banquet in bright Honour's burnished hall, 10
Till he hath furrowed Neptune's glassy fields,
And cut a passage through his topless[520] hills.--
Achates, come forth! Sergestus, Ilioneus,
Cloanthus, haste away! Æneas calls.
_Enter_ ACHATES, CLOANTHUS, SERGESTUS, _and_ ILIONEUS.
_Ach._ What wills our lord, or wherefore did he call?
_Æn._ The dreams, brave mates, that did beset my bed,
When sleep but newly had embrac'd the night,
Commands me leave these unrenowmèd realms,[521]
Whereas nobility abhors to stay,
And none but base Æneas will abide. 20
Aboard, aboard! since Fates do bid aboard,
And slice the sea with sable-colour'd ships,
On whom the nimble winds may all day wait,
And follow them, as footmen, through the deep.
Yet Dido casts her eyes, like anchors, out,
To stay my fleet from loosing forth the bay:
"Come back, come back," I hear her cry a-far,
"And let me link thy[522] body to my lips,
That, tied together by the striving tongues,
We may, as one, sail into Italy." 30
_Ach._ Banish that ticing dame from forth your mouth,
And follow your fore-seeing stars in all:
This is no life for men-at-arms to live,
Where dalliance doth consume a soldier's strength,
And wanton motions of alluring eyes
Effeminate our minds, inur'd to war.
_Ili._ Why, let us build a city of our own,
And not stand lingering here for amorous looks.
Will Dido raise old Priam forth his grave,
And build the town again the Greeks did burn? 40
No, no; she cares not how we sink or swim,
So she may have Æneas in her arms.
_Clo._ To Italy, sweet friends, to Italy!
We will not stay a minute longer here.
_Æn._ Trojans, aboard, and I will follow you.
[_Exeunt all except_ ÆNEAS.
I fain would go, yet beauty calls me back:
To leave her so, and not once say farewell,
Were to transgress against all laws of love.
But, if I use such ceremonious thanks
As parting friends accustom on the shore, 50
Her silver arms will coll[523] me round about,
And tears of pearl cry, "Stay, Æneas, stay!"
Each word she says will then contain a crown,
And every speech be ended with a kiss:
I may not dure this female drudgery:
To sea, Æneas! find out Italy!
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_Enter_[524] DIDO _and_ ANNA.
_Dido._ O Anna, run unto the water-side!
They say Æneas' men are going aboard;
It may be, he will steal away with them:
Stay not to answer me; run, Anna, run! [_Exit_ ANNA.
O foolish Trojans, that would steal from hence,
And not let Dido understand their drift!
I would have given Achates store of gold,
And Ilioneus gum and Libyan spice;
The common soldiers rich embroider'd coats,
And silver whistles to control the winds, 10
Which Circe[525] sent Sichæus when he lived:
Unworthy are they of a queen's reward.
See where they come: how might I do to chide?
_Re-enter_ ANNA, _with_ ÆNEAS, ACHATES,
CLOANTHUS, ILIONEUS, SERGESTUS,
_and_ Carthaginian Lords.
_Anna._ 'Twas time to run; Æneas had been gone;
The sails were hoising up, and he aboard.
_Dido._ Is this thy love to me?
_Æn._ O princely Dido, give me leave to speak!
I went to take my farewell of Achates.
_Dido._ How haps Achates bid me not farewell?
_Ach._ Because I feared your grace would keep me here. 20
_Dido._ To rid thee of that doubt, aboard again:
I charge thee put to sea, and stay not here.
_Ach._ Then let Æneas go aboard with us.
_Dido._ Get you aboard; Æneas means to stay.
_Æn._ The sea is rough, the winds blow to the shore.
_Dido._ O false Æneas! now the sea is rough;
But, when you were aboard, 'twas calm enough:
Thou and Achates meant to sail away.
_Æn._ Hath not the Carthage queen mine only son?
Thinks Dido I will go and leave him here? 30
_Dido._ Æneas, pardon me; for I forgot
That young Ascanius lay with me this night;
Love made me jealous: but, to make amends,
Wear the imperial crown of Libya,
[_Giving him her crown and sceptre._
Sway thou the Punic sceptre in my stead,
And punish me, Æneas, for this crime.
_Æn._ This kiss shall be fair Dido's punishment.
_Dido._ O, how a crown becomes Æneas' head!
Stay here, Æneas, and command as king.
_Æn._ How vain am I to wear this diadem, 40
And bear this golden sceptre in my hand!
A burgonet of steel, and not a crown,
A sword, and not a sceptre, fits Æneas.
_Dido._ O, keep them still, and let me gaze my fill!
Now looks Æneas like immortal Jove:
O, where is Ganymede, to hold his cup,
And Mercury, to fly for what he calls?
Ten thousand Cupids hover in the air,
And fan it in Æneas' lovely face!
O, that the clouds were here wherein thou fled'st,[526] 50
That thou and I unseen might sport ourselves!
Heaven,[527] envious of our joys, is waxen pale;
And when we whisper, then the stars fall down,
To be partakers of our honey talk.
_Æn._ O Dido, patroness of all our lives,
When I leave thee, death be my punishment!
Swell, raging seas! frown, wayward Destinies!
Blow, winds! threaten, ye rocks and sandy shelves!
This is the harbour that Æneas seeks:
Let's see what tempests can annoy me now. 60
_Dido._ Not all the world can take thee from mine arms.
Æneas may command as many Moors
As in the sea are little water-drops:
And now, to make experience of my love,--
Fair sister Anna, lead my lover forth,
And, seated on my jennet, let him ride,
As Dido's husband, through the Punic streets;
And will[528] my guard, with Mauritanian darts
To wait upon him as their sovereign lord.
_Anna._ What if the citizens repine thereat? 70
_Dido._ Those that dislike what Dido gives in charge,
Command my guard to slay for their offence.
Shall vulgar peasants storm at what I do?
The ground is mine that gives them sustenance,
The air wherein they breathe, the water, fire,
All that they have, their lands, their goods, their lives!
And I, the goddess of all these, command
Æneas ride as Carthaginian king.
_Ach._ Æneas, for his parentage, deserves
As large a kingdom as is Libya. 80
_Æn._ I, and, unless the Destinies be false,
I shall be planted in as rich a land.
_Dido._ Speak of no other land; this land is thine;
Dido is thine, henceforth I'll thee lord.--
Do as I bid thee, sister; lead the way;
And from a turret I'll behold my love.
_Æn._ Then here in me shall flourish Priam's race;
And thou and I, Achates, for revenge
For Troy, for Priam, for his fifty sons,
Our kinsmen's lives[529] and thousand guiltless souls, 90
Will lead an host against the hateful Greeks,
And fire proud Lacedæmon o'er their heads.
[_Exeunt all except_ DIDO _and_ Carthaginian Lords.
_Dido._ Speaks not Æneas like a conqueror?
O blessèd tempests that did drive him in!
O happy sand that made him run aground!
Henceforth you shall be [of] our Carthage gods.
I, but it may be, he will leave my love,
And seek a foreign land called Italy:
O, that I had a charm to keep the winds
Within the closure of a golden ball; 100
Or that the Tyrrhene sea were in mine arms,
That he might suffer shipwreck on my breast,
As oft as he attempts to hoist up sail!
I must prevent him; wishing will not serve.--
Go bid my nurse take young Ascanius,
And bear him in the country to her house;
Æneas will not go without his son;
Yet, lest he should, for I am full of fear,
Bring me his oars, his tackling, and his sails. [_Exit_ First Lord.
What if I sink his ships? O, he will frown! 110
Better he frown than I should die for grief.
I cannot see him frown; it may not be:
Armies of foes resolv'd to win this town,
Or impious traitors vow'd to have my life,
Affright me not; only Æneas' frown
Is that which terrifies poor Dido's heart;
Not bloody spears, appearing in the air,
Presage the downfall of my empery,
Nor blazing comets threaten Dido's death;
It is Æneas' frown that ends my days. 120
If he forsake me not, I never die;
For in his looks I see eternity,
And he'll make me immortal[530] with a kiss.
_Re-enter_ First Lord, _with_ Attendants
_carrying tackling_, &c.
_First Lord._ Your nurse is gone with young Ascanius:
And here's Æneas' tackling, oars, and sails.
_Dido._ Are these the sails that, in despite of me,
Pack'd[531] with the winds to bear Æneas hence?
I'll hang ye in the chamber where I lie;
Drive, if you can, my house to Italy:
I'll set the casement open, that the winds 130
May enter in, and once again conspire
Against the life of me, poor Carthage queen:
But, though ye[532] go, he stays in Carthage still;
And let rich Carthage fleet[533] upon the seas,
So I may have Æneas in mine arms.
Is this the wood that grew in Carthage plains,
And would be toiling in the watery billows,
To rob their mistress of her Trojan guest?
O cursèd tree, hadst thou but wit or sense,
To measure how I prize Æneas' love, 140
Thou wouldst have leapt from out the sailors' hands,
And told me that Æneas meant to go!
And yet I blame thee not; thou art but wood.
The water, which our poets term a nymph,[534]
Why did it suffer thee to touch her breast,
And shrunk not back, knowing my love was there?
The water is an element, no nymph.
Why should I blame Æneas for his flight?
O Dido, blame not him, but break his oars!
These were the instruments that launched him forth. 150
There's not so much as this base tackling too,
But dares to heap up sorrow to my heart:
Was it not you that hoisèd up these sails?
Why burst you not, and they fell in the seas?
For this will Dido tie ye full of knots,
And shear ye all asunder with her hands:
Now serve to chastise shipboys for their faults;
Ye shall no more offend the Carthage queen.
Now, let him hang my favours on his masts,
And see if those will serve instead of sails; 160
For tackling, let him take the chains of gold,
Which I bestow'd upon his followers;
Instead of oars, let him use his hands,
And swim to Italy. I'll keep these sure.--
Come, bear them in.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE V.
_Enter_[535] Nurse, _with_ CUPID _as_ ASCANIUS.
_Nurse._ My Lord Ascanius, you must go with me.
_Cup._ Whither must I go? I'll stay with my mother.
_Nurse._ No, thou shall go with me unto my house.
I have an orchard that hath store of plums,
Brown almonds, services, ripe figs, and dates,
Dewberries, apples, yellow oranges;
A garden where are bee-hives full of honey,
Musk-roses, and a thousand sort of flowers;
And in the midst doth run a silver stream,
Where thou shalt see the red-gill'd fishes leap, 10
White swans, and many lovely water-fowls.
Now speak, Ascanius, will you go or no?
_Cup._ Come, come, I'll go. How far hence is your house?
_Nurse._ But hereby, child; we shall get thither straight.
_Cup._ Nurse, I am weary; will you carry me?
_Nurse._ I, so you'll dwell with me, and call me mother.
_Cup._ So you'll love me, I care not if I do.
_Nurse._ That I might live to see this boy a man!
How prettily he laughs! Go, ye wag!_[536]_
You'll be a twigger[537] when you come to age.-- 20
Say Dido what she will, I am not old;
I'll be no more a widow; I am young;
I'll have a husband, or else a lover.
_Cup._ A husband, and no teeth!
_Nurse._ O, what mean I to have such foolish thoughts?
Foolish is love, a toy.--O sacred love!
If there be any heaven in earth, 'tis love,
Especially in women of your years.--
Blush, blush for shame! why shouldst thou think of love?
A grave, and not a lover, fits thy age.-- 30
A grave! why, I may live a hundred years;
Fourscore is but a girl's age: love is sweet.--
My veins are withered, and my sinews dry:
Why do I think of love, now I should die?
_Cup._ Come, nurse.
_Nurse._ Well, if he come a-wooing, he shall speed:
O, how unwise was I to say him nay!
[_Exeunt._
ACT V.
SCENE I.
_Enter_ ÆNEAS,[538] _with a paper in his hand,
drawing the platform[539] of the city_; ACHATES,
SERGESTUS, CLOANTHUS, _and_ ILIONEUS.
_Æn._ Triumph, my mates! our travels are at end:
Here will Æneas build a statelier Troy
Than that which grim Atrides overthrew.
Carthage shall vaunt her petty walls no more;
For I will grace them with a fairer frame,
And clad her in a crystal livery,
Wherein the day may evermore delight;
From golden India Ganges will I fetch,
Whose wealthy streams may wait upon her towers,
And triple-wise entrench her round about; 10
The sun from Egypt shall rich odours bring,
Wherewith his burning beams (like labouring bees
That load their thighs with Hybla's honey-spoils)[540]
Shall here unburden their exhalèd sweets,
And plant our pleasant suburbs with their[541] fumes.
_Ach._ What length or breadth shall this brave town contain?
_Æn._ Not past four thousand paces at the most.
_Ili._ But what shall it be call'd? Troy, as before?
_Æn._ That have I not determin'd with myself.
_Clo._ Let it be term'd Ænea, by your name. 20
_Serg._ Rather Ascania, by your little son.
_Æn._ Nay, I will have it callèd Anchisæon,
Of my old father's name.
_Enter_ HERMES _with_ ASCANIUS.
_Her._ Æneas, stay; Jove's herald bids thee stay.